


Imaginis

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: AU, Community: snarry_games, HP: EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-21
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 51,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When children are threatened, Severus Snape does the right thing for once and finds himself saddled with suspended Auror, Harry Potter. Some people can't help but be themselves, while others appear to be someone else. And, in the middle of it all, a meddling portrait finds unexpected freedom and hope for the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Week 1: Tipping the cauldron

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2008 Snarry Games.
> 
> Many thanks to my betas, some of whom had the patience to read through three drafts of this story: Shoshanna, Meri Oddities, Perverse Idyll, and batdina (who also came up with the title at (literally) the last minute). Thanks also to Unbroken Halo who was an early reader and to Team Phoenix.
> 
> _Imaginis_ (Latin): image, likeness, picture, ghost, echo, appearance, semblance, shadow, thought, idea.

"What is the point, pray tell, of hiring a shop manager if he's going to skive off to the Antipodes with barely any notice simply because his daughter decided to abuse her right to procreate?"

Severus Snape paced around his small sitting room, scowling at the letter delivered with the mail. He carefully placed his mother's crystal dragon back on the mantel, thankfully undamaged. As he walked, he snarled the spells required to reshelve books and fix the rest of the damage caused by the clumsy owl - the damned bird totally unappreciative of the fact that Severus had only singed a few of its tail feathers.

"Hmmm? What are you banging on about now?" Regulus Black peered down from his portrait over the mantel, now hanging a bit crooked as a result of Severus' altercation with the owl. He sat sideways on his painted armchair, leaning back against one chair arm, long legs hanging over the other.

"Perkins. Don't you pay the least bit of attention?"

"The bloke who manages your bookshop? That Perkins?"

"Not any longer." Severus stalked over to stand directly in front of Regulus' portrait and brandished the letter. "The inconsiderate, nearly competent dolt had the audacity to quit."

"Without notice?" Regulus sighed and slipped to the painted floor, where he could angle himself so that looking at the room didn't resemble the view from a funfair ride.

"He's claiming a family emergency. The man has absolutely no backbone."

Regulus smirked and watched him. Life with Severus was rarely boring.

"You realise what this means, don't you? Unless I'm willing to leave the selling of Muggle books in Meredith Colson's semi-literate hands, I am obliged to manage at least the front shop myself until I can find someone to replace Perkins; and to hell with testing my hypothesis on the effects of adding rauwolfia serpentina to Wolfsbane. I think it could be..."

Voice trailing off, Severus spun around. Moving rapidly, cursing a blue streak, he headed for his workroom.

Regulus slumped back and wished that, just this once, he could bang his head against something solid and feel a bit of pain. Last time the shop had lost its manager, he'd been subjected to four solid months of nothing but Severus bitching and whinging on about the incompetents who applied to run it, not to mention the unappreciative, dunderheaded customers. And here he was with no way to turn the bugger off. He couldn't even kick off his shoes and slip into something more comfortable. Really, being a portrait wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

"Ruined. Five days of work ruined because that self-centred moron doesn't have the decency of a flobberworm." Muttering to himself, Severus stomped back into the sitting room.

"Bloody hell. We're in for it now."

"I heard that."

"Bully for you."

Severus snorted. "What would I do without you?"

"Do you want me to answer that question?"

"Not really." Severus' lips twisted into an almost-smile. Then he glanced at the clock. "Bloody sodding hell, it's almost noon. The little twerp has been left in charge of the Muggle side for hours." He flung on the cloak that he'd left hanging on his desk chair the previous night. "On that lovely note, and with the expectation that this day ought not to be able to worsen, I must be off."

"Just do me one favour and straighten me out before you go. Hanging sideways always makes me feel a bit wonky."

Severus nodded, reaching up to adjust the frame as he stepped into the Floo.

*

"I am so fucked. And not in a good way." Harry Potter crumpled the interoffice memo, slumped over his desk, and buried his face in his arms.

"What's that?" Ron Weasley frowned, looking up from the scrolls and readouts scattered over his desk in the cubicle next to Harry's. He'd already shrugged off his red Auror robes and unbuttoned his shirt collar. His leaky quill had left blotches of ink on his fingers, the tip of his nose, and one cheek. His red hair stuck up on one side. With the flickering light over Ron's desk, Harry couldn't decide if the dark splotch in the red was more ink or just a shadow.

"Fucked? Really? Do tell?" Curiosity brightened Draco Malfoy's grey eyes. He got up from the chair in Ron's cubicle and perched on the edge of Harry's desk. His black robes were plainer than his usual attire, revealing only a thin slice of white collar at the neck.

"Go 'way, Malfoy. Do something useful, like drowning yourself in the sea of ink and parchment that's got Ron." Harry raised his head just long enough to glare and then dropped it again.

"Oh, I think my financial assessment of the Auror budget can wait. This is so much more... interesting."

"Yeah, mate. Spill. You can't say something like that and then leave us hanging." Ron joined Draco at Harry's desk.

Harry raised his head and glared at them again. Before he could tell them both to bugger off, another interoffice memo flew towards him, ruffling Draco's hair as it skimmed past his ear. Harry batted the memo away once, then ignored its persistent butting against his head. After five attempts, the paper changed from white to red, the tip hardened, and it began to emit a buzzing noise.

Draco and Ron carefully backed away. When the buzzing noise changed to a higher pitch, they moved faster, almost scrambling in their haste to cast a protective shield around Ron's desk. Other Aurors and visitors were throwing up their own shields, ducking behind desks and pillars, and closing office doors.

Ron peeked over his desk. "Er... Harry, you going to get that?"

"Whatever." Harry reached up and snatched the annoying memo out of the air just as the edges of the paper started turning black and curling up. His touch activated the message. The paper unfolded itself. Words flamed into visibility.

> _Potter,  
> My office at 11:30. Bring your notes and report from the Emberston debacle. Do not be late.  
> Lotte Mahlingren_

"Like I said, I'm fucked." Checking his watch, he groaned. Twenty-five past eleven already. "No flowers, all right? Just really big donations to my favourite charity." He straightened his glasses, pulled a black leather casebook out of his drawer, and shoved a loose stack of paper inside. Grabbing his cloak - he had a feeling it was going to be _that_ kind of meeting - and keeping his head down to avoid seeing any looks of sympathy or vindictiveness aimed his way, he headed to his supervisor's office.

Mahlingren was waiting when he sidled into her office. Tall and slim, she had short, dark blonde hair, and a plain face. She wore her Auror robes as if they were dress robes and her team leader badge as if it were precious jewellery. Stress was visible in the tautness of her body and the lines of her face. One hand was spread on an open file. The Emberston file.

Repetition, as much as familiarity, breeds contempt, Harry thought as he listened to her spout the same old lines. Being an Auror is about being a team player. No more chasing down tips and haring off on your own. You should know the basics of all open investigations in the department. Months of work on another case almost destroyed because you didn't report back to base immediately.

Almost, he just managed to stop himself from muttering out loud. Almost is the operative word here.

She did not, of course, see fit to mention that he'd sent his Patronus off as soon as he saw who and what was in the warehouse and before he went in; or that, with his wards locking the doors and windows, not only did he catch his thief, but they were able to put a stop to the long-term fencing operation they'd been investigating for all those months. Instead, she yammered on and on about the same old, same old. Until the words weren't the same anymore, and he was bolt upright in his chair, wide-eyed and awake.

"...pack up your things and go home," she said. "I want you to take this afternoon and think about everything we've discussed here. We'll meet again, tomorrow morning at," she consulted her calendar, "eleven o'clock. If you still want to be an Auror, we'll discuss the details of your probationary period."

"I..." He started to object.

"Goodbye, Potter. Shut the door after yourself." Mahlingren waved a hand in dismissal and then flipped open the casebook Harry had brought with him.

Harry headed straight for the lift and the public Floos, breathing a sigh of relief when the lift doors closed before Draco and Ron could get in. As a bollocking, it hadn't been up to much. Snape - hell, even his Uncle Vernon - had subjected him to much worse over the years. But that last bit, about being an Auror, about going through another bloody probationary period, he wasn't ready to talk about that with anyone.

*

Damp towel in one hand, Severus stood naked in front of a full-length mirror. His wet hair hung just below his shoulders in its usual non-style. This daily ritual was not about his appearance - he suffered from no illusions about the hooked nose that dominated his face or his thinly muscled, scarred body - but provided reassurance that, despite the machinations of Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore, he was still alive. That he was, finally, master of his own fate.

He stroked the rippled skin on his neck, the only remnant of Nagini's bite, and recalled the debts that he had not yet adequately repaid: Minerva for insisting that his body be brought back to Hogwarts; Potter, Lovegood, and Longbottom (of all people) for their foresight in carrying extra blood replenishing and anti-venom potions back to the Shrieking Shack just in case. Bloody overachieving serpent. Three phials of each ought to have been more than enough.

No small part of his current success was due to his Scar-Healing potion. He'd developed it in the months following that last battle, when he had desperately needed something to keep himself sane while he dealt with the shattered remains of his life and career. Licensing his creation had funded his present life, and he continued to earn sufficient income from it for the occasional indulgence - like Ashwinder's Bookshop and Café.

Thoughts of the shop brought back his bloody awful day and the inane task that still awaited him. He snarled, wadded his towel into a ball, and threw it at the wall. No sound, no destruction, nothing to improve his mood. Pottery, that was the answer. Unlocking a cabinet, he retrieved one of Grandmother Snape's horrendous, oversized cherub-in-love figurines. He strode into the sitting room, tossing and catching the statuette onehanded.

"Is that another pair of kissing angels, Severus? I thought you'd demolished the entire, perverted lot of them years ago."

"Sod. Off."

"If only that were possible," Regulus sighed dramatically. "Someone should have told me about the advantages of having a portrait painted in flagrante delicto."

Severus weighed the porcelain monstrosity in his hand, then flung it against the mantelpiece just below Regulus. The first large crash was followed by several smaller ones, as the larger pieces hit the hearth. Smiling in a tight and vicious fashion that would have intimidated his students more than any of his glares, Severus used his wand to pulverise the shards into dust and then banished the dust.

"Feel better now?" Regulus asked.

"You could say that." Severus fixed himself a mug of tea from the tray his house elf, Hissy, had left for him. He settled into his favourite armchair - the same one that he'd occupied in front of the fire at Hogwarts - and picked up his book. Blessed peace and quiet, however, were not to be his.

"So, Severus, I've been wondering."

Humming in inquiry, Severus did not lift his gaze from his book.

"What's in the bloody cauldron? And why is it painted in those godawful colours?"

"The bloody cauldron," Severus marked his place in the book and set it aside, "is a tip jar. Perkins, bright spark that he is, apparently thought the rainbow colour scheme would encourage customers to fill out bits of paper with their tips on how to improve the shop."

"Mmmmhmmm." Regulus waited for his friend to continue.

Severus stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle. "Each month Perkins rewarded the least imbecilic tipster with their picture on the wall and a coupon for a free drink and sweet at the café."

"And this would be the end of the month?"

"Tomorrow, and, according to dear, sweet, ickle Meredith, the customers await the announcement with bated breath."

"And you brought it home because..."

"Because I'm the bloody shop manager."

"I see," Regulus said. "So, are these customers of yours big tippers?"

"Not likely." Severus levitated the cauldron to his lap. He reached in and pulled out a card. "Keep a fire going in the fireplace to give the place some atmosphere. And who's going to pay for it, Mr Cuthbert? Not you, I'm sure." A flick of his wand and the tip sailed into the fireplace. "Improve the romance novel selection. With customers like that..." A snort of disgust and that one followed the other. "Happy hour with half-price coffee and tea at least once a week. In your dreams."

As Severus went on and on and on, consigning every card and piece of paper and parchment he withdrew to the flames, Regulus stopped laughing and yelled, "Oi. Greasy git."

"What?"

"If you keep throwing them out like that, you won't have a tip of the month, will you?"

"I should be so lucky." Severus pushed his still-damp hair back off his face, tucking it behind his ears. He peered into the cauldron, rummaged around inside, and came up with the last five tips.

"And the winner is?"

Using the pads of his fingers, Severus extracted one. "Mrs Carmel Santorini, who would like us to serve a wider selection of cream cakes and buns in the café."

"Well, that's a right disappointment, that is. It's almost sensible." Regulus pouted. "Anything fun in the rest?"

"No. No. And--" Severus let the other tips fall and stared at the one in his hand. He couldn't believe it. Not after all these years. Not when he was finally starting to relax.

The second time Regulus yelled his name, Severus snapped, "What?"

"What is it?"

"It's..." He took a deep breath and got up. Stopping in front of the fireplace, he stroked the left edge of the frame, where varnish met wood.

Regulus moved as close to the edge as possible and leaned into Severus' caress. When he spoke, his voice was soft, gentle. "Talk to me."

Hands clammy, heart racing with a level of adrenaline he hadn't felt in years, Severus fought not to revert to the hyper-aware state that had kept him alive during the war. He breathed in, breathed out, and cleared his throat until he was able to read the tip out loud:

> _During the week of the third full moon after the solstice, in the middle of a school day, we will destroy the Tonks-Thomas Junior School for the Magical MisEducation of Mudbloods.  
> Death's Furies_

*

"That bloody woman will be the death of me. I could have been on time for once if she hadn't held me up at reception blathering on about another of her bright ideas. Wands as a measure of male virility. I think not." Harry stomped to his cubicle, greasy bag in one hand and a large travel mug of coffee in the other.

"You should do what the rest of us do, mate. Walk past smartly and keep your mouth shut. Don't even say hello." Ron looked at Harry hopefully. "So, what're we having for breakfast this morning? Toasted teacake? Bacon butty?"

Harry made a show of opening the bag and retrieving a serviette-wrapped circle. "_I'm_ having egg and bacon pie from the corner tea shop."

"I knew it. You want me to starve to death, become a shadow of my former self." Ron flung a hand to his forehead, attempting to swoon, but only succeeding in falling off his chair.

"Idiot," Harry snorted and tossed the bag at Ron's head.

Ron grabbed it and stuck his nose inside.

"Lost something, Weasley?" Draco leant against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest, feet crossed at the ankle. His charcoal-grey robes were almost identical to those he had worn the day before.

"Only my dignity. Nothing I'll miss too desperately." Ron grinned as he got up, pie in hand, and dropped into his chair.

"If you can keep what's left of your brain from oozing out your ears, we might even finish today. And Charlie will be ever so grateful if I get out of here on time tonight. You want your brother to be happy, don't you?" Smirking when Ron's grin faltered, Draco retrieved a small square from one pocket and his wand from another. A muttered spell expanded the square into a stack of parchment and an accounts ledger.

Ron shook his head, wiggling a finger in each ear. "God, Malfoy, can't you wait until I've finished my breakfast before you put me off it."

"Where's the fun in that?" snickered Harry. "Besides, it's not as if you're living with either of them, is it?"

"Jealous, Potter?"

"Tired, more like." Harry raised a hand to cover an exaggerated yawn. "My roommate keeps bringing his bloody boyfriend home and forgetting to use Silencio."

"Oh, do stop complaining. You've had an entire week to catch up on your beauty sleep - for all the good it ever does you - and Charlie's staying at my flat a couple of nights next week as well." Draco flipped some of his long blond hair over his shoulder and winked at Harry. "Of course, you could always try bringing someone home yourself. You never know. You might like it."

"Stop it," Ron snapped before Harry could respond. "The pair of you... I just really don't need to know, all right?" He shook his head and flipped open a file. "Now where did we leave off last night?"

"As you wish." Draco sketched a bow then opened his ledger, turning it sideways so he and Ron could both see it. Then he called over his shoulder to Harry, almost apologetically. "Oh, by the way, Harry, I almost forgot. Percy caught me in the lift and asked me to pass on a message. Apparently your meeting with Mahlingren has been moved to half past nine in the Minister's office."

"Half..." Harry sighed when he saw his bare wrist. "Tempus." He stared at the time, cursed, and took off for the lifts at a dead run.

*

Severus abandoned the cup of undrinkable, pathetically weak tea on the table and shifted in the ridiculously uncomfortable leather and metal chair provided for guests of the Minister - an obvious ploy that failed utterly on someone who'd spent more than five seconds in the Dark Lord's presence. If this meeting went on much longer, he was going to transfigure it into one of Albus' arse-absorbing, squashy bloody armchairs, and the hell with the risks of working magic in the Minister's office.

Recrossing his legs in the other direction and failing yet again to find a comfortable position, he glowered at Kingsley and that woman. They'd been whispering at each other since she'd returned six minutes ago. Clearing his throat to get their attention, he drawled, "Could we possibly return to something resembling the topic. My shop does not run itself. And, if the informant is to be believed, we have at most three weeks to prevent this disaster."

"My apologies, Severus." Kingsley held out his hands in placation. "Lotte and I were simply discussing some potential plans."

"Mr. Snape," Mahlingren said, returning to the other visitor's chair in the office. "Considering some information we received from other, credible sources," she paused at the black look on Severus' face, "erm, equally credible sources, we believe this threat requires full investigation. In addition to a team of Aurors, we would like to place someone in your shop. Undercover, if you will."

"I will not accept--"

"Severus, please," Kingsley broke in. "We would not ask this of you if we didn't feel that it was necessary - vital even - to protect the children at the school."

"Protection that does not require closing the school, apparently," Severus snorted.

Mahlingren shook her head. "We have not yet confirmed the accuracy of the tip."

"Fine. Just, for god's sake, send me someone with at least half a brain, not your usual dunderheaded, clumsy oaf of an Auror. My bookshop has a reputation to maintain."

"One of our best, I assure you." Mahlingren sipped her tea before continuing. "Luckily, he has just finished an assignment - very high-profile and with a very successful conclusion, might I add. He is currently unpartnered and therefore available for a solo assignment."

Severus narrowed his eyes and looked from Mahlingren to Kingsley and back again. He had a very bad feeling about this, a Death Eater-level bad feeling. "Who is this paragon?"

"Don't you want to meet him first?" Kingsley settled back into his chair and smiled, white teeth gleaming against dark skin. "He should be here any minute."

"Who. Is. It?"

Someone knocked on the door. Relief passed so quickly across Kingsley's face that Severus would have missed it if he hadn't been contemplating legilimency. He turned his head, following Kingsley's expectant gaze to the door.

The green eyes were accented, instead of obscured, by angular spectacles with silver and black frames. The man was taller than the boy had been and broader across the shoulders. Mostly muscle, if he was any judge of the outline hidden beneath Auror robes and shirt. And, Severus reminded himself, his brain did not go there. Perhaps for a stranger, but not when the body was topped by that messy, uncontrollable hair belonging to that messy, out-of-control boy. He sat up, uncrossed his legs, slamming his foot onto the floor, and snapped, "Potter? No. I will not have it."

"What is _he_," Harry's mouth twisted around the pronoun, as if he'd drunk a potion laced with bubotuber pus, "doing here?"

"I see that you already know each other." Mahlingren flinched back into her chair when two pairs of angry eyes, one green and one black, turned their glares full-force on her.

"Definitely." Harry crossed his arms and waited.

"You could say that." Severus forced himself to examine his fingernails, instead of Harry. His too-white fingers, he thought, mourning the stains that were already fading after only a few days of working in the shop. Such lovely reminders of the ingredients he used, stimulators of sight and smell and touch that occasionally resulted in a brilliant breakthrough. Having neither the time nor the energy to spend in his workroom was the worst part of this whole morass. Still, it wasn't as if he could leave the shop in someone else's hands until this was over.

"Now, Severus, Harry, can't we..." Kingsley let his voice trail away when the glares turned on him. "Fine," he said and flicked his wand at a small table next to Severus, transfiguring it into a chair. "Sit down, Harry."

"Finally learning obedience, Potter?" Severus said, as Harry walked behind him to take his seat.

"You wish."

"I have many wishes, Potter. None involve you."

"That's enough!" Kingsley slapped his desk. "You're both adults, and I expected better of you." He came around and leaned against the front of his desk. "Now, childish attitudes and old grudges aside, can either of you give me one good reason why Harry is not a perfect fit for this investigation?"

Harry broke the momentary silence. "Er, what investigation?"

"Mr Snape received an anonymous tip describing a threat against the Tonks-Thomas School," Mahlingren said, floating two pieces of parchment to Harry. "This is a duplicate of the tip and a report on the parchment and handwriting. Unfortunately, the tip is written on the standard parchment used in almost every Ministry office and Wizarding shop and school. The writing comes from Dicta-quill, model 1302, which is, as you are aware, their cheapest and most commonly sold auto-writing quill."

"And we're sure this tip is the real thing?" Disbelief was written all over Harry's face.

She continued, "The tip is more than credible, given intelligence that has recently come across my desk."

"Of all the ..." Harry bit his lip. "Why the hell would they send the anonymous tip to him?"

"Perhaps they wanted someone reliable?" Severus clenched his fist before he slapped some sense into the insufferable brat. Just this once, he would like to retain his composure in front of Harry bloody Potter.

"More likely they..."

"I said _enough_." Kingsley cut off Harry's response. "We don't yet know why they chose Severus. That will be part of your job."

"What job?"

"We'd like you to go undercover at Mr Snape's bookshop and café," Mahlingren said. "See if you can identify the informant."

"A completely ridiculous idea, might I add; almost worthy of a first-year essay," Severus sneered. "The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, cover boy for every tawdry rag known to our world, working undercover. Name me one person who wouldn't recognise him on sight."

"There are billions of Muggles out there and tens, if not hundreds of thousands of wizards in every country," Harry smirked. "I'm sure my skills are good enough to provide you with a list of some of their names."

If looks could kill, Severus would have been very happy with his own at that moment. "Don't be ridiculous. That hardly voids my premise. Unless you take Polyjuice potion, and suffer the side effects consequent on long-term use, no wizard or witch in this city, or even this country, could possibly fail to identify you."

Most of the subsequent discussion that raged around Severus was lost on him. He recognised the occasional former pupil's name, but the rest was buried under an onslaught of occupational jargon and obscure rules and regulations. Eventually, though, he noticed that Potter had stopped protesting and apparently, no matter how far-fetched the idea, started thinking.

Harry cut into a brief pause in the discussion between Kingsley and Mahlingren. "Why don't we take advantage of it?"

"Take advantage of what, Harry?" Kingsley asked.

"Of my notoriety."

Mahlingren nodded. "Of course."

Intrigued, Severus turned to Harry. "Explain yourself."

"Everyone recognises me, yeah? Everyone knows me from all of those godforsaken articles that wouldn't know the truth about me if it whapped them in the face. Let's take advantage of that." Harry leaned towards Severus, green eyes flashing. "I've already been called on the carpet over my actions in the Emberston case. With the gossip mill around here, it won't be long before that hits the papers too, with Rita Bleeding Skeeter once again making up stories about my imminent fall into insanity to increase her audience share. So, why not fire me? Let that splash all over the Daily Prophet for a few days. Then I'll pop by your bookshop, all desperate like. You can run me through some variation of your usual shite, mutter about having to save my arse once again, and offer me a job."

"Very good, Mr Potter. You've finally come up with a hare-brained scheme that has half a chance of succeeding." Severus offered Harry a tight nod to indicate his approval. "Now, if I am to have a livelihood, I must rescue it from my shop assistant. I assume that someone will notify me when I can expect Mr Potter to drop by and suitably abase himself."

"Wait. One more thing before you go," Mahlingren said. "We can't use an Auror as Harry's control. Not even Weasley. There would be too much chance of breaking his cover."

"Very true," Kingsley agreed. He paused for a moment, thinking. "Severus, what about Hermione Granger?"

"Ms Granger would not normally approach me without provocation."

"C'mon. You run a bookshop, and we're talking about Hermione here," Harry said. "Books are her life."

"Which gives her reason to stop by once or twice, but not much more often, and certainly not to make regular visits without her husband," Mahlingren objected.

Lower back aching from that damned chair, Severus stood up and paced, making sure that his robe flared and billowed at each turn. He would have leant on the back of his chair and stretched unobtrusively, if the piece of furniture had had any decency. This was almost as bad as an Order meeting. After several circuits, voice sharp with suppressed pain, he said, "Draco Malfoy."

"The accountant?" Mahlingren leaned back in her chair, frowning. "He's hardly trained for this."

"He's perfect," Harry smiled. "He and Snape have known each other for ages. And he's going out with my roommate, so he's always underfoot."

"Nothing about this affair is perfect, Potter. It was designed to wreak havoc on my life." Severus drew himself to his full height, biting down on the moan of relief when his spine cracked. "Now, if you don't mind, I do have other duties. Kingsley. Auror Mahlingren. Potter." He nodded in farewell and stalked over to the private Floo behind Harry's chair. The delay required for Kingsley to unward the Floo spoiled what could have been a flawless exit.

*

Harry stood silently in the lift, ignoring the chatter around him and concentrating on what he needed to do, to think, to feel if he was going to make this convincing. Maybe if he focussed on the unrelenting grief Snape dealt out at Hogwarts? Harry sighed when that didn't result in the expected anger. All right, then he needed to remember how fucking sneering and dismissive the man had been today, concentrate on what it would be like to work for the git. How Snape would treat him like an imbecile; nag him to do this, that, and the other stupid task as if he were incompetent.

Temper finally flaring, Harry stormed off the lift and headed for his cubicle. Clutching the wand in his pocket, he muttered spells under his breath to ensure that papers flew, knick-knacks rattled, and lights flickered in his wake. Other Aurors yelled and cursed, but no-one tried to stop him. At his desk, he transfigured a spare bit of parchment into a box and started ripping his personal items off the low divider walls and tossing them in. Not with magic, because doing it by hand felt so damn good.

"What the fuck, Potter?" Draco drawled.

"Harry? Everything okay, mate?" Ron spoke cautiously, almost gently.

"Everything. Is. Not. Fucking. Okay. All right." Harry caught himself before he slammed the carved wooden wolf he'd claimed from Sirius' bedroom on top of everything else. Breathing deeply, he surrounded the wolf with a padding spell before placing it carefully into the box. He gritted his teeth and then raised his voice, using how much he hated needing everyone to know his business to create the right edge. "Mahlingren says I don't follow the rules, that I'm not a team player. Mahlingren doesn't want Aurors who aren't team players. She's fucking suspended me for six months, or until I can figure out how to play nicely with others. Probably would have fired my arse, if I wasn't the Boy Who Bloody Well Couldn't Stop Living."

"But you solved the case, shut down the whole ring." Ron took a framed picture of the two of them and Hermione from Harry and settled it more carefully in the box.

"Irrelevant." Draco dismissed the argument. "He didn't follow protocol. And with the budget the way it is, kicking out Potter probably saved someone else's job."

"Things're that bad?" Surprise jolted Harry out of his manufactured snit.

Draco glanced back at the papers on Ron's desk, then around the room, and lowered his voice. "Getting there. All those fines and reparations the Wizengamot levied didn't come close to covering the cost of rebuilding. Even wizards can't grow galleons on trees."

Harry looked at Ron, who just nodded in agreement. Running a hand through his already messy hair, and knowing that Ron would have to say no, Harry said quietly, "We can't talk now, obviously. Why don't you both come over tonight with Hermione and Charlie? I'll get Kreacher to whip up something special."

"Wish I could," Ron sighed. "But tonight's the first birthing class, and you know how Hermione gets about these things. She's already got a list of questions a mile long and she'd drive me bonkers worrying about what she missed."

"No worries." Harry attempted a smile and avoided looking at Draco's raised eyebrow. It would be all right, as long as the prat didn't mention that Harry knew that perfectly well, because the date was circled on his kitchen calendar.

But Draco just shrugged and settled for a meaningful glance at Ron. "I'm sure I can convince Charlie to give up our plans and stay home for the night. I'll think of some way that you can make it up to us."

"Of course, you will." Harry flung his Auror robe on his mostly empty desk, picked up his box, and stepped over to where Dawlish and Mahlingren were waiting. "Now if you'll excuse me, it looks like my escort has arrived."

*

Thoroughly out of sorts, Harry kicked around Grimmauld Place for a couple of hours after getting home from the Ministry. He hung out in the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards and the pantry, muttering about baking scones or pies or biscuits until Kreacher summarily threw him out, threatening to beg for clothes if Master Harry didn't stay away.

Unimpressed, but not completely sure the elf was bluffing, Harry wandered from room to room randomly tearing off bits of peeling wallpaper or knocking down the cobwebs that had accumulated in unused rooms. By the time he reached the dining room, he was frustrated and bored. His list of potential renovation projects was longer than he was tall. And he desperately wanted to break something. Anything.

What the hell had he been thinking? Handed a perfectly reasonable excuse to get out of working with the greasy git, and he'd come up with a way to make it happen. He'd even found himself appreciating the way those grey and silver robes set off the man's long, lean body. And Harry wasn't going there. He just wasn't going there.

Pulling on his hair, chewing on his lower lip, Harry moved away from the overloaded sideboard and kicked the wall. Puzzled at the hollow sound, he kicked it again. This time he heard a faint echo. Forehead crinkled in confusion, he contemplated the wall and what it might be hiding. Blasting spells might damage the hidden treasure. More kicking might damage his foot.

A quick look around, a couple of waves of his wand, and he transfigured a pair of ugly porcelain ornaments into a sledgehammer and a crowbar. Another wave or two levitated the dark, heavy dining table and chairs out of his way. Then he picked up the sledgehammer, weighed it in one hand, and started swinging. Dust flew. Plaster and drywall cracked and broke into pieces. And Harry laughed like a maniac. If he'd known it would feel this good, he would have taken up destruction therapy years ago.

Eventually, though, the hole in the wall was big enough that Harry couldn't kid himself that he needed to keep hammering at it. He banished the debris, used his wand to poke his glasses up his nose, and ran a quick cleansing charm over his body and clothes to get rid of the worst of the dust and chips of paint and wall. Then he floated the wooden box out into the dining room.

Old, burn-scarred, pitted, and battered, the box was approximately a metre long by two-thirds of a metre wide. Although the dark surface was whorled like wood, it felt like stone. The lid resisted his attempts to open it. He tried Alohamora and every other locking or unlocking charm he knew. All of them failed. He sat back on his haunches and stared at the chest, running through everything he'd learned at school, in Auror training, and in the field about magic locks. What was it Bill had said about locks on cursed objects? Password activation, that was it. Then again, if Mrs Black had sealed this up, there was only one possible password. Harry grasped his wand tightly, in case of surprises, and said, "Toujours pur."

The click was loud in the silent room. The lid slid back. Resisting the impulse to reach in, he cast the spells that he should have cast when he first saw the chest. Aside from the password protection and the curious fact that it had been sealed up in a wall, the chest was free of curses, hexes, and jinxes. Keeping his wand at hand, Harry leaned over and looked in. The chest contained two pictures, both facedown. They were the same size, each about ten centimetres smaller on each side than the box.

The first picture Harry lifted out was spell-blasted, almost completely destroyed. The middle was gone. What little remained of the canvas hung in shreds too small to identify the subject. Then he saw the warped nameplate and realised that the bloody, fucking bitch had cost him a chance to talk to Sirius' portrait. If her picture hadn't already been destroyed, Harry would have gone out there and blasted it to kingdom come. One hand still clutching the empty frame, he wrapped his free arm around his aching chest and sniffed. Eventually, he laid the frame on the dining table, dug out a handkerchief, and blew his nose. He would find a way to hang it up. Sirius deserved that much.

Teeth gritted, muscle in his jaw twitching, he reached in and pulled out the second one. When Harry saw it, he almost laughed in relief. This one was in perfect condition. Harry ran a finger over the portrait's only occupant, a black cat with a white stripe down its nose which was curled up on a cushion. Its low purr filled the room briefly. Regulus must have abandoned this portrait for another, Harry thought. Maybe if he hung this picture up, Sirius' brother would return.

He was leaning over the table, contemplating the two portraits, when Charlie walked in with his arm around Draco.

"Hullo, Harry; heard you wanted company tonight." Charlie leaned against the wall next to the door. Broader than his brothers and only a few inches taller than Draco, he bore the hallmarks of his new relationship. His red hair was now fashionably tousled and cut to frame his face, emphasizing his cheekbones and blue eyes. Instead of his habitual blue jeans, or the battered dragonhide clothing he wore when he worked at the Welsh dragon reserve, Charlie was dressed in skin-tight black trousers and a navy silk shirt. Draco wore equally tight navy trousers with a cream silk shirt and open navy robes.

His roommate looked both gorgeous and cheerful. For the umpteenth time, Harry wished he'd had the sense to pay attention to his libido and look at someone other than Ginny in sixth year. He had to admit, though, that he and Charlie probably wouldn't have been the best of matches, given how happy the man was with Draco.

"Harry Potter! Are you paying the least bit of attention?" Draco stamped the heel of his booted foot on the floor. "I understand you've had a bad day, but you did invite us for dinner," he looked around the room, nose wrinkled in distaste, "and not to eat in this destruction zone, I presume."

"Oh, yeah, right. Sorry about that." Harry straightened up and dusted his hands on his bum, suppressing a grin at Draco's hurried step back. "I got distracted by something I found in the wall."

Charlie sauntered over. "Did you dig out anything interesting?"

"More proof that Mrs Black liked Regulus better than Sirius." Harry gestured at the portraits. "Although she did lock both of them away and wall them up."

"Yet another reason to be glad Mother limited her association with this family after she married Father." Draco examined the pictures. "Wonder who has Regulus' other portrait?"

"Haven't a clue, but maybe he'll visit this one, now that it's not facedown in a locked chest." Harry kicked the edge of the hole, knocking more plaster loose. "Have I mentioned lately how much I hate this horrid, dingy, gloomy, falling-apart house?"

"Not for at least a day, possibly two," Draco replied. "You could move already."

"And hand this place over to some unsuspecting family?"

"Do you really think," Draco drawled, "that anyone buying an unplottable, over secured, mostly rundown house once owned by the Blacks is likely to be the unsuspecting sort?"

"Point," Harry admitted.

"You could talk with our Percy," Charlie said. "He took up as an estate agent after that stint at Gringotts fell through. His office is in Hogsmeade, but he handles properties all over."

"I'll think about it." Harry headed for the door. "With this mess, dinner will have to be in the kitchen tonight. Hope that won't damage your aristocratic sensibilities too much, Draco."

"Hardly," Draco sniffed. "Some of my favourite meals were eaten after I snuck into a kitchen. Especially at Hogwarts. You'd think those elves never got to feed anyone, the way they hovered over you down there."

"Great, wasn't it?" Harry was wistful for a brief moment. "I didn't know you snuck down there, though."

"Everyone snuck into the kitchens at Hogwarts." Charlie slid an arm around each of their waists. "Now, you did promise food and an explanation. I hear you had one hell of an exciting day today. Although Draco claims that all is not exactly as it appears."

"I am far more observant than Ronald Weasley," Draco said. "And you did manoeuvre him quite neatly out of this get-together. That manipulation was almost worthy of a Slytherin."

"Thanks, I think," Harry snickered. "Yeah, well, this has to stay out of Ron's ears. If you want to discuss it with anyone outside the three of us, your only choices are Mahlingren, Shacklebolt, and Snape."

Draco paused just before they entered the kitchen and turned to Harry. "Severus? Really? This I must hear."

*

Festellaen might be successful, but the restaurant designer should have been taken out to the back alley and hexed, Severus thought as he followed the hostess. The warehouse-like dining room had hammered copper on the ceiling and metal sculptures on the walls. The effect transformed normal conversation into an invasive cacophony. He hissed with relief when she led him down a short hallway and into a more intimate room. Trellises covered with leafy green vines surrounded each table for four and created the impression of eight private alcoves.

Four tables occupied, he noted, one hidden behind a privacy shield. Draco lounged at the table in the far corner, toying with a glass of red wine. His hair was tied back with the tail draped over one shoulder, providing a contrast to his green cashmere jumper. Expensive but simple, Severus mused, as was the matching cloak abandoned across a chair. Draco's wardrobe had come to match his personality: relatively serious, mostly dependable, and somewhat boring. Comfortable and low-stress, as if the war and its consequences had burned every speck of defiance and desire to be different out of Draco. Perhaps Mr Weasley's influence would help negate this unfortunate descent into mediocrity.

Severus folded his serviceable black cloak over an empty chair and took the seat which provided the most security and the best view of both the entrance and the obscured table. "We could have met at my flat."

"And miss a wonderful meal on your ticket?" Draco smiled. "For your reassurance, tables in this room have muffling charms on all four sides, plus a privacy barrier that we can raise after our main courses arrive. It's a popular location for assignations of all kinds. And after my fascinating conversation with our mutual friend two nights ago, I assumed that we could use the privacy." Draco handed him a glass of wine. "I've ordered our usual kind of starters."

Severus nodded. Out of habit, he flicked a gaze around the room, minutely cataloguing the actions of the other diners. Habit also kept his observations from interfering with his ritual: swirling, sniffing, sipping, and judging the better than tolerable vintage. The menu that appeared in front of him was filled with simple dishes described in a pretentious mishmash of English and French. He huffed in displeasure when the waiter arrived too soon, delivering the starters and demanding their orders. Feeling pressed, he selected "Best end of Cornish lamb". As if a restaurant of this calibre would serve the worst end; although the mind boggled at what part of the beast that might be.

By the time the waiter returned with their main courses, they had caught up on their lives. The bookshop was still open. The Ministry hadn't changed. Charlie was delectable. Narcissa was enjoying Aix en Provence. Lucius was still dead.

To his relief, a bite of the lamb proved that "Best end" was only a slight exaggeration. The waiter, however, was not as pleasant a surprise. The dunderhead was still loitering. Having delivered their main courses and topped up their glasses, he was now inquiring as to the acceptability of their food and attempting to flirt with Draco - badly. Severus said, "Any time would be appropriate."

Draco smiled at the waiter most insincerely. "Thank you. I believe we can take care of ourselves from here." He waved off the waiter's protestations with a shooing motion. "We'll let you know if we need anything."

While Draco took care of the waiter, Severus inspected the room once more. The same people remained seated at the same tables. The far table was still concealed. Vaguely reassured, he tilted his head in inquiry and watched as Draco reached for the low bowl in the centre of the table.

"Draco, darling! Professor Snape, it's been far too long."

Severus winced. He didn't even have to look. That voice could only belong to one simpering idiot of a Slytherin. The bejewelled hand that dangled over his plate would not be ignored, however. He dropped his fork onto the china with a satisfying clang, raised his head, and acknowledged the two women hovering over their table. "Miss Parkinson," he hesitated for the fraction of a second required to connect a name to the face, then continued, "Miss Clearwater."

"Professor, it's good to see you out and about." Penelope Clearwater twirled a lock of curly hair around a finger as she talked. "You've been almost reclusive over the past few years, although I have heard very good things about your new potions from a friend in the Magical Patents Office. You have kept them quite busy since you retired from teaching."

"Retired," Severus snorted. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Parkinson twitched. "I can't believe the luck. We were just leaving when I spied you over here. We were here for the monthly meeting of our Teaching Challenges group." She indicated a group of people filing out from a room across the hall. "Did you ever go to one when you were teaching?"

Severus' abrupt denial passed right over Parkinson's head. More small talk ensued. Severus murmured here, muttered there, continued eating his meal - the food was quite worthy of his attention - and returned the occasional kick from Draco under the table.

"...and then Headmaster Porsmythe turns to me as if I was at fault, not the other teacher," Parkinson finished.

"Porsmythe?" Severus dropped his fork again, delicately wiped his mouth with his napkin. He ignored Draco's questioning gaze and asked, "You work at Tonks-Thomas? Both of you?"

Parkinson fluffed her hair and went off again. "I teach the Basic Wizarding Skills course to first-through third-years. Penny works for the Education division at the Ministry. She's become a great friend, giving me books on pedagogy, helping me create the curriculum, and..."

Severus felt his eyebrows rise as he listened to her. Parkinson was a teacher, a teacher who used the word 'pedagogy' in normal conversation. Not only were wonders unceasing, but apparently the planet was tripping the light fantastic, backwards. And that was without considering the implausible coincidence of the school where she worked. Appetite erased by the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, he pushed his half-full plate away - only to reveal a small square of parchment with one word written on it: _Adustum!_

As he read the word, a flicker at the periphery of his vision made him look towards the concealed table. The privacy barrier was wavering, colours running through it like ennis oil added incorrectly to a healing potion. Yellow smoke puffed above the barrier only to be sucked back down.

He cast a shield at the hidden table, feeling Draco's strength joined to his own and knowing it would not suffice.

"Everyone out. NOW!" Severus roared in his best teacher's voice. Then he seized the parchment and his cloak and headed for the door. He didn't hesitate to shove other people out of the way, as he pushed Parkinson and Clearwater ahead of him. A brief glance reassured him that Draco was on his heels.

A momentary hush followed his order, and then the diners and waiters started to move. Children cried. Men and women yelled at each other. A table soared across the room, scattering food, dishes, and silverware. Chairs toppled with bruising force. Glass shattered. China crunched underfoot.

In the main dining room, everyone flung themselves as far away from the hallway as possible.

The explosion was a ball of flame and yellow-black smoke that blew out of the smaller room and retreated back inside, leaving behind an odour of singed hair and charred flesh.

Then chaos really descended: alarms blared at ear-splitting volume; people screamed, shoved, and trampled those who were trying to get out ahead of them; water flew from wands in utterly ineffectual volumes. Through it all, Severus cast bubble-head charms to prevent smoke inhalation and herded Draco, Parkinson, and Clearwater towards the exit. They paused only to help women with children escape.

The rest of the night disappeared into a blur. Severus and Draco worked side by side, assisting the uninjured and the walking wounded, keeping them away from the triage site set up by the mediwizards. Occasionally he caught sight of Parkinson, always with one or more children.

After the fire was finally doused and the last of the victims transported to St Mungo's, the Aurors began interviewing witnesses. Severus hovered in the background and listened, avoiding his own cross-examination. Interestingly, no-one seemed to remember that Severus had started the exodus.

When he saw Mahlingren in the temporary command post, he took a couple of minutes to make a copy of the spelled note from under his plate. Then he picked his way over to the table that had been set up outside and ensured she noticed him. Within a few minutes, he had given her the duplicate note, and she had extracted his promise of a complete report first thing. She also agreed with his instinct to stay silent, which might have troubled him more if he hadn't been so bloody exhausted.

Finally, Severus collapsed next to Draco on the pavement. Damp and filthy, they sat silently and watched until the sky started to lighten and threaten dawn. Accepting Draco's hand and assistance with standing, Severus leaned over, giving the impression to anyone watching that he was toppling with exhaustion, and murmured in Draco's ear, "Tell Potter to come tomorrow. We cannot afford to wait until week's end." He straightened up and looked at Draco again. "And get a mediwizard to look at that cut on your face."

Cautiously, Draco waggled his jaw, wincing when the pain sliced through the shock. He lifted his hand to his left cheek. His eyes widened when he saw the blood on his palm. "Oh," he said, and fainted.

*

Perched on his stool in Ashwinder's, Severus buried his nose in the _Daily Prophet_, keeping the rag below the counter to avoid distracting the Muggles. The hair hanging loose on either side of his face provided the illusion of privacy. Potter's firing from the Aurors had finally been evicted from the rag's front page. Today's headlines blared about last night's attack at Festellaen. He muttered under his breath as he read. That hag Skeeter dared to insinuate that he and Draco were the instigators rather than among the victims. One of these days, he was going to give the bitch a dark mark of her very own.

"Coffee, Mr S."

Severus raised his head. Flipping his hair back over his shoulders, he glared at his putative shop assistant. Speaking of those deserving of dark marks.

"Dark, two sugars, and a shot of espresso, just the way you like it." Meredith Colson bounced over, her every movement causing her dyed blonde, spiky hair to flop in and out of her eyes. With each breath, her too-small beige jumper lifted, revealing the roll of fat and the acid yellow undershirt that hung over her lowslung canvas trousers. She handed him an oversized mug with the Ashwinder's logo on the side: a grey serpent wound around green lettering. "Oh, and Mrs Macomber wants to know when the tip jar's coming back. Says she's come up with a definite winner for this month's draw."

"How delightful for her," Severus gritted out. He gestured at the row of low display cases that separated the bookshop from the café. "Perhaps, however, you can persuade her to invest a few pounds in a pair of new glasses."

Meredith giggled asthmatically and clapped her hands, jangling the silver and leather bracelets that went halfway up her forearms. "Good one, Mr S. I didn't see it there either."

Severus scowled at her and shook out his sorry excuse for a newspaper, making a somewhat satisfactory rattle.

Turning to walk away, Meredith stopped and leant across the counter. "You know, Mr S, that new colour of yours, you could stand to wear it again. It doesn't make you look quite so much like death warmed over twice."

"Impertinent brat," Severus ground out, resisting the urge to look down at the dark grey jacket ornamented with tiny, carved, black buttons that he'd found in the back of his wardrobe this morning.

"That's me, all right." She stuck out her tongue at him, displaying a steel ball in the centre that Severus really hadn't wanted to know about. "Anyway, that'll be Mr Tomlins looking for his elevenses, so I better be off to t'other side. Growl if you need anything, yeah?"

Severus sighed. The things he was forced to endure. It was a wonder he was still relatively sane. Although if he didn't get to send the bint to Azkaban when this was all over, he would take great pleasure in kicking her out on her ear. He picked up the coffee she had given him, sniffed it cautiously, and then banished the contents. Did she honestly believe him stupid enough to drink something offered to him by a relative stranger?

A few minutes later, he was distracted by a customer who had come in through the disillusioned entrance off Diagon Alley, sent there in search of a rare volume of Persian spells by the clerk at Flourish and Blotts. Severus called Jeremy Higginsmith through to watch over the Muggle shop and took himself back over to the wizarding side. The next couple of hours were quite satisfactory, at least in part because Mr Tarfon bought two additional books after a surprisingly intelligent conversation about kabbalistic influences on Middle Eastern wizards. Tarfon almost made up for the two Muggle imbeciles who wasted far too much of his precious time with their insistence that every decent bookshop sold magazines about rugger.

Severus had just settled down at the counter with his afternoon tea, the latest _British Medical Journal_, and a red fountain pen when Potter made his grand entrance. On the Muggle side, of course. At least the clumsy oaf stopped himself before he bowled over the pensioner leaving the shop with her week's supply of romantic twaddle.

He bent back over his journal and observed Potter in the orb installed beneath the counter. Potter was browsing around the shelves closest to the door. If it weren't for the pristine state of his glasses, Severus would think the man had forgotten everything he ever knew about drying and water-repelling spells. His trainers were wet and muddy, and his jeans were soaked up to the knees. Apparently the barely literate sod was actually pretending that he read books, and trailing his damp and dirty fingers over volume after volume, as if the shop elf didn't have enough work to do. Muttering imprecations under his breath, Severus waited for the right moment and then cast drying and cleaning spells on the thoughtless whelp. To protect the merchandise, of course.

Potter straightened up so fast that he almost sent books tumbling off the shelf. Severus smirked and settled in to wait for the inevitable confrontation as Potter stalked towards him.

"Still doing things behind my back, Snape? What do you think, should I curse you for your presumption?" Harry lounged against the counter, picking at a deep scratch in the wood with a ragged fingernail. His other hand clutched a book.

"You could try a simple thank you, or is that still beneath you?" Severus peered at the book, but could only see the author's name: Nathan Englander. A Muggle and not a name he recognised.

"I might, if you ever do anything to deserve one."

"You ungrateful--" Severus bit back his words, taking a deep breath to bolster his fading control. This wouldn't do. Not if he was going to hire the man. "Mr Potter. May I ask you what calamity forced you to enter a bookshop? Ms Granger's birthday, perhaps?"

Harry blinked, raked his hand through his hair, and worried his lower lip. He made an indeterminate noise and glanced around the shop. "I, erm, well, I heard that you might, uh..."

"Spit it out, Potter. I'm not getting any younger."

Flushing and swallowing hard, Harry said, "Well, Draco said that you might be, umm, looking to hire someone. And, well, you've seen," he waved at the _Daily Prophet_, "that I need a job these days."

"And you thought of me." Severus raised an eyebrow. "Should I be honoured?"

"Only if you want to hire me." The smile was a bit forced, but it was vintage Potter.

"What makes you think I'd be interested in you?" Almost as soon as he uttered the words, Severus wanted to retract them.

A tide of red flushed across Potter's face, and his eyes widened. Thankfully, however, the brat had enough brains to keep his mouth shut.

For want of a better idea, Severus asked, "Do you know what the job involves?"

Potter grabbed hold of the question as if it was a lifeline. "Doesn't really matter, does it? At least you won't go around announcing that you've got the Boy Who Lived in your store."

"Hardly."

"Then I'll take the job, if it's all right by you."

"It's undoubtedly within your meagre abilities: taking in deliveries, stocking shelves, doing whatever else I happen to require." Harry went red again. Severus merely raised an eyebrow, as if wondering what Harry's problem was, and continued smoothly, "You can start tomorrow morning. We open at nine o'clock, but I expect staff to arrive at half past eight. We will discuss remuneration at that time."

"All right," Harry said, trying another smile. This one was far less successful than the first. "Mind if I hang about a bit? Maybe pick up this book," he pushed it towards Severus, "and have a cup of tea?"

"It's a shop, Potter. If you're spending money, you're welcome to stay." Severus rang up the book, smirking when he read the title. _For the Relief of Unbearable Urges_. With those splotches on the cover, it required no comment, he thought, slipping the receipt and a message between the pages of the book.

*

Harry hung Regulus' portrait in the sitting room. He angled the frame to face the window seat where he whiled away most of his free time. Sirius' mangled frame leant against the wall below. He still felt a compulsion to hang it up, but seeing it there, looking at the wallpaper that filled most of the frame between the remaining bits of canvas, was just too painful.

Besides, the little missive Snape had placed in the book said he was coming over that evening and Harry completely couldn't handle any sarky comments about Sirius being a waste of space.

And leaving it there is going to prevent that exactly how, he asked himself, and then grabbed the frame. A few steps took him to the mahogany sideboard, which was too crowded with junk. The built-in cupboard was too small. Harry didn't want to think about the possible effect of shrinking a portrait, never mind a damaged one. The matching drinks cabinet was equally full. Fuck. He looked around - not really sure why he needed to keep the two portraits in the same room - and sighed with relief when he spotted the drawers under the window seat. He knelt down and stowed the portrait in the bottom drawer.

"Praying, Harry?" Charlie snickered. "I don't think it will help you with Severus."

"Shut it, you." Harry grinned. "I need every advantage I can get."

"Don't we all?"

"Some of us more than others," Harry said. He refreshed his cushioning and warming charms and then curled up in the window seat, facing the chair and settee. If he turned his head slightly, he could see Regulus' portrait, with its cat curled up in the precise centre of the rug.

Charlie paused at his usual wingchair near the fire, stroked the worn black leather, then shrugged and went over to the brocade settee. He stretched out his legs and put his bare feet on the coffee table. "Draco'll be down in a minute. Soon as he's got himself sorted."

"Draco sorting himself out? Now that could take forever."

"Certainly not." Draco joined Charlie on the settee. "You see, Harry, not all of us suffer from the same natural... well, let's politely refer to them as challenges."

"Love you too." Harry blew a kiss at Draco.

"Oi, watch it, kid, or I might have to do something we'd both regret."

"You could do it anyway?" Draco kissed Charlie, resting a hand on his thigh. "As a favour to me."

"And you'll explain it to my mum, yeah?"

"Perhaps not." Draco shuddered dramatically. "Molly's far more frightening than my mother."

"Strange that, but no less true." Charlie frowned and ran a blunt finger down a faint line of red on Draco's cheek, something Harry had seen him do countless times since Draco had fallen through the Floo early that morning, filthy and still dizzy from healing and pain potions. "You got lucky, love. Looks like this one's finally healing up. You shouldn't be able to see it tomorrow."

"Bloody inconsiderate bombers, if you ask me. No appreciation for beauty," Draco huffed.

"That's the nature of the beast, Malfoy. Or were you expecting them to put their plans on hold and check to make sure you're out of range before setting anything off?"

Draco's response was lost in the blaze of the Floo and the noise of Severus' entrance.

Leaving Draco and Charlie to welcome Snape, Harry went to the drinks cabinet. Once he had the appropriate bottles - firewhisky, red wine, and brandy - on a tray with a collection of cut crystal goblets and tumblers, a thought and a flick of his wand sent the tray over to settle itself on the coffee table exactly halfway between the settee and the chair where Severus sat.

Back on the window seat, goblet of wine in hand, Harry was drawn into the conversation by a name. "Penelope Clearwater?" he asked. "Percy's old girlfriend with Pansy Parkinson? Now that's an odd couple."

"To encounter Parkinson, who works at the threatened school, would have been curious enough. The placement of the second note under my plate and the subsequent explosion take the entire incident far beyond mere coincidence," Severus said. "I'm a trifle more concerned about the convenient timing of their appearance, however, given that only the four of us knew that Draco and I would be there."

"You're accusing one of us?" Anger flushed Charlie's face. He shifted forward in his seat, shrugging off the hand Draco placed on his arm.

"Neither Draco nor I are quite so foolhardy as to endanger ourselves. As for you and Potter, wands at twenty paces is more your style than this level of subtlety."

"That's all right then," Charlie said, settling back into his corner of the settee.

Harry cleared his throat.

"You have something useful to add, Potter?"

"Actually, I was wondering why you're getting the tips. Aside from whatever intelligence Mahlingren referred to - and still hasn't seen fit to share - you're the only one who's received anything from the Furies. I'd also like to know how this Death's Furies group is linked to Voldemort."

"If I knew the answer to the first question, I might sleep better at night," Severus responded. "As for the latter, it's reasonable to assume that these self-styled Furies are bent on revenge for Voldemort's death, which places you and me at the top of their list."

Harry leaned forward, fascinated by the idea that they were thinking along the same lines. "And if that's true, maybe the threat against the school is nothing more than misdirection intended to bring us into the investigation."

"Which makes me wonder why Mahlingren was so insistent on you being assigned to this case," Draco commented.

"And here we are back full circle again." Harry frowned. "We've got to start somewhere, though, and the fire is the best candidate we have. Whoever is responsible is probably linked to the first note and the threat. Guilty or innocent, Penelope and Parkinson's presence was too bloody convenient."

"Agreed," Draco said, holding up a hand to stop Severus from interrupting him. "I haven't seen much of Pansy in the last few years, but this event gives me the perfect reason for getting back in touch."

Charlie nodded. "We should check out Penny too, yeah? Don't know if Percy's still in touch, but I can get that out of him pretty easily. I'll look him up tomorrow after I'm freed from that useless damn meeting at the Ministry where they'll put off the decision about expanding the reserve. You can come with, Harry. Talk to him about dumping this place."

"Mr Potter is not free to join you. He is expected to start work tomorrow," Severus said.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, wouldn't want to get on the boss's bad side my first day, would I?"

"And on a completely different note," Draco leaned forward, eyes glinting with anticipation, "now that I've finally gotten the Auror financials into something resembling good order, my next assignment is in the Department of Education and Magical Skills. I'm sure I can get access to the budgetary and other records for the Tonks-Thomas Junior School."

"Oi, hold on a minute. This case belongs to the Aurors. You're only intermediaries, because I'm undercover. You're not the investigators. I am. And whoever else has been assigned," Harry objected, grateful that he'd managed not to whine about it being unfair that they were getting to go out and do things, and he was stuck in the damn shop with damn Snape. Not to mention, now that he thought about it, why didn't he know who else was working the case?

"_Now_ you're interested in following the rules. For what? To leave us sitting around, twiddling our thumbs, and waiting for the almighty Aurors to get their arses moving?" Draco said. "Do you know who they've got on this case? Dearbourne and Sharette: the idiots who buggered up the supposedly open and shut Carsinge case. Oh, they've got another team working on the explosion, but only because the Undersecretary for Finance was there. Mahlingren didn't believe Severus and me when we said it was related to this investigation. Apparently, she's convinced that the Lestranges are responsible for the whole thing."

Harry cradled his head in his hands - so much for trying to be a good Auror. "Fuck. I really _should_ be surprised."

"But apparently you're more intelligent than I gave you credit for being." Severus' lips twitched as he raised his tumbler of firewhisky in Harry's direction. "Now, is there a _legitimate_ way to get into that school?"

Charlie grinned. "There's always the ever popular Harry Potter roadshow."

Draco said, "Perfect," at the same time that Harry said, "No bloody way."

"You don't want to save the little brats?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "Whatever happened to the Boy Who Lived to Save Everyone in the World?"

"He got a life." Harry grabbed for his drink, and then almost choked on his wine when Severus started chuckling. That sound, so much like his voice, but so much more. Harry bit his lip. It really was unfair that such a complete and utter arse, the greasy git who had made his life so fucking miserable for so many years, should be gifted with a voice and a laugh capable of curling Harry's toes.

"And what a life it is," Draco drawled. "Work, work, work, oh, and let's see, more work. Harry is becoming quite the dull Jack of no play."

"How unfortunate," Severus said, quirking an eyebrow at Harry.

Charlie poured himself another glass of wine. "Too right, Harry. It's time you got yourself back out there and forgot about that Flinchley tosser."

"Finch-Fletchley," Harry corrected automatically, and then shrugged. Really, why did he bother? There was nothing wrong with taking a relationship break. He'd been out with plenty of blokes before Justin, and there would be more some day. He was just picky, that was all.

"Whatever. There're loads better where that cold fish came from." Charlie waved a hand at nothing in particular.

Then Draco started contributing dating advice in his inimitable style, with Snape smirking as if he were a bloody Casanova with those black eyes and long legs and gorgeous hands and... and how wrong was _that_ image? Harry's mood went from indignation to embarrassed anger. Face burning, he looked away from them and right at the portrait, which was now occupied. Harry's chest ached when he saw the familiar black, wavy hair and long-legged frame. Why hadn't he expected Regulus to look quite so much like Sirius?

"You," Harry whispered, and then faltered when Regulus held a finger up to his lips.

"Discovered another problem, Potter?" Severus' sharp voice drew Harry's attention to him.

"No. Just a," he glanced at the portrait, which looked empty yet again, "stray thought."

"Better be careful, Harry," Draco snorted. "It might be contagious."

"Indeed," Severus said. "What if you found yourself thinking regularly? The world might never recover." Despite the amusement in his voice, his face was contemplative and turned towards the portrait.

"Ha bleeding ha," Harry said, summoning the bottle of wine from the coffee table and refilling his goblet. He needed something like courage to keep going with this conversation. And he really, really needed to change the subject before his temper got the best of him. "So, about getting a gander at the workings of this school?"

An hour or so later, they had the beginnings of a plan and Harry had agreed - only because there wasn't a better idea - to see about making a visit to the Tonks-Thomas school.

It took another half hour, and a few threats yelled up at Charlie and Draco who had forgotten _yet again_ to put up silencing wards, before Harry was - finally - alone in the sitting room with the door closed and only faint noises audible from upstairs. He sat quietly for a while, chewing on a thumbnail and watching the portrait. He almost gave up, wondering if he should just go to bed, try and get the sleep he needed to face tomorrow morning, but then the cat made a plaintive noise and stretched.

*

Regulus watched as Severus exited the Floo and went directly into his bedroom without saying a word. When he could hear the faint sounds of Severus going through his night-time ritual, Regulus rose. He did whatever it was that he did instead of taking a deep breath - and he really did _not_ want to know what his non-body was doing when it wasn't breathing - and walked to the back of his portrait.

Moving between portraits was instinctive in this not-life. He'd watched the portraits in Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place, and other places move around for years. If he'd known then about the strange, black nothingness of in-between, how faint the sensation of safe was at either end, he would have wondered why they moved at all. But there was someplace new for him to go, and he could not resist the possibility of something different, something to distract him from thoughts of what exactly he was. Because one thing he knew was that he was only almost, but not actually, the Regulus Black whose memories he held.

He stepped into the void. For an incalculable time, he knew nothing. Then he was looking out on a different room, at the face of the man he had glimpsed in his last visit. Messy black hair and glasses that reminded him of his brother's friend. Green eyes that were almost identical to a pair that had once smiled at Severus. And an air of insecurity that was unique to Harry Potter - if Regulus was guessing correctly.

"Regulus?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Harry?" Regulus bent down and picked up Dubh, disoriented by the strange sensation of holding a cat without any sensation of weight. He sat down in the almost comfortable chair used in this portrait, and settled Dubh in his lap. The low purr was reassuring, even without the expected vibration.

Harry nodded. "Harry Potter." He bit his lower lip and glanced around the room. "I'm living here now. In your old house. Sirius, he left it to me. You, erm, you know about him, right? I mean, I shouldn't assume, should I? Since I don't know where you've been and you obviously... well, you must have been somewhere, yeah? Since you weren't here."

"I know about Sirius."

"Oh. Yeah. That's good. Well, it's not good, but..." Harry's shrug was a strangely helpless gesture.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Huh. What for?"

"For killing the Dark Lord. For taking care of Kreacher." Regulus smiled. "I'm not sure which one was the harder job."

Unexpectedly nervous, Harry flattened his fringe down over his forehead. "He's a bit freaky, that elf of yours. A bit too attached to some of his, well, not so good ideas. We figured it out eventually, though." He raised his head, managed a quick grin. "Helped when we got rid of your mother."

"She swore that portrait of hers would outlive the house."

"Got a pair of Malfoys on it, didn't we?" Harry smirked. "Draco refused to visit Charlie here if your mother was going to shriek and curse at him every time he walked down the hall. After a couple of conversations with Narcissa, they came up with this potion that pretty much melted the paint off the canvas. Lovely stuff, it was."

Regulus wasn't sure if he wanted to throw up or cheer. Just the thought of a potion which could do _that_ to a portrait. He shuddered and cuddled Dubh a little closer. Needing to change the subject, he asked, "Charlie?"

"Charlie Weasley, my roommate. He and Draco are upstairs right now, having at it like bunnies. Very noisy bunnies." Harry leaned back against the wall, wriggling and stretching until he was comfortable on the window seat, crossing his legs at the ankle.

"The Malfoy heir with a Weasley - a Weasley boy no less - and cousin Narcissa is assisting them? Lucius must be beside himself," Regulus snorted. "It couldn't have happened to a nicer man."

"Yeah, I only wish he'd lived to see it." Harry's face was pensive for a moment, then his expression changed to a mischievous grin. "Can you imagine his face, though?"

Harry's laugh filled the room and wiped away the last of Regulus' fleeting worries about portraiticide. Soon he was relaxing as much as was possible in this frame, legs dangling over the stiff chair arm, enjoying Dubh's not-quite-purr and the conversation with Harry. They skirted around awkward topics - Voldemort, both of their childhoods - but managed to talk and laugh and talk some more until Harry yawned so widely that his jaw cracked.

Regulus was still smiling as he said goodbye to Dubh and to Harry, promising to visit again with both of them, and stepped back into the void. Next time he would find out how Harry felt about Severus.

*

Severus slumped in his armchair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The almost-full bottle was on the side table, near his elbow. He wasn't much of a drinker. That required too much trust: trust that those around him wouldn't abuse him in his inebriated state, trust that he wouldn't do or reveal something that he would regret. If he were so inclined, however, he would have succumbed to the temptation to down drink after drink after drink.

He grunted, swallowed the contents of his glass, and refilled it. How many hours had he sat here staring at an empty portrait and the orange flames of his dying fire? Ridiculous, he thought, a grown man moping like a love-sick teenager. And yet, there was reason behind his madness. Regulus had kept him company from that portrait for more years than they had been lovers, more years than Regulus had been alive. Decades since the last time Regulus had been elsewhere, since his shrieking fishwife of a mother had sealed the second portrait away from light and company. Days since he'd learned what effect Harry Potter could have on him.

Severus kneaded the back of his neck with his free hand. Could there be anything sadder than a middle-aged wizard, maudlin over a flash of motion, a barely seen image, a flicker of movement in an eminently recognisable frame - and, if he were being honest, over a greedy, unmanageable, insufferable, hopelessly attractive Marauder's whelp?

"Severus!" Regulus yelled his name in a familiar, exasperated tone.

"What?"

"Marvellous snit you've got going there."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

Severus sipped his whiskey and glared at the flames. Their crackling noise defied his need for silence. He flexed his jaw, feeling the tic of a muscle in his cheek.

Voice gentle, Regulus asked, "Are you all right?"

"When am I not?" Severus clutched his glass a little tighter and rested it on the arm of his chair.

"Don't do this, caro mio."

Lifting his head, blinking hard, Severus looked at the portrait. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, flat. "I saw you tonight."

Regulus moved to the edge of his portrait and stood there, one hand curled over his heart. "I heard the voices. It's been so long that I... I needed to know."

"They're dead. I told you."

"I believed you then. I believe you now. That's why I had to go. I had to know who else would want to have me on their wall."

"Potter," Severus spat.

"Harry, yes." A smile ghosted across Regulus' face. "You did well to keep him alive."

"Did I?" Severus shoved himself upright, swaying a little as he walked over to the fireplace. Released, his glass tumbled to the floor. Supporting himself with an arm on the mantel, he rested his head on the wall next to the frame. The blurring of his vision and renewed itching of his eyes were due to the fire, the smoke, and the almost too close proximity to Regulus, of that he was positive. Not to this feeling, this alienation, this incomprehensible lust for a man half his age.

"How can you doubt it?"

"You spoke with him?"

"For a while. He was tired, but unable to sleep. Nervous about tomorrow, I think."

"Did you tell him?"

"About you? This portrait?" Regulus shook his head. "Do you wish me to?"

"No." A shudder rippled through Severus. "Not yet, at least. He will only bombard me with myriad questions that I do not wish to answer at this moment."

"Then I won't," Regulus said. After a moment, he asked, "Are you... jealous?"

"Of a portrait? Don't be ridiculous." Severus shoved down the image of a pair of green eyes gleaming behind ugly spectacles.

"Ah." The sound was a bare breath of an understanding that Severus did not want. "It could not hurt to talk with him."

"After my treatment of him during his school days, that kind of talk can only hurt."

"I believe you are wrong about that, but I will not push you."

Severus nodded and reached a hand out to touch the frame near Regulus' head.

"If I can help, Severus, if there's something you require from Harry, from anyone, I'll help you get it. It's," his voice cracked, "it's the least you deserve, my friend."

"I don't know, Reg. I just don't know. I'm worn through, completely and unutterably done. And now it's starting again, yet another offshoot that leaves me responsible for more lives, for his life. It's too much." Severus stood up straight, dignified once again. He whispered, "Nox," and glided to bed in the dark.

*


	2. Week 2: One stir widdershins, two stirs clockwise

Fists digging into the muscles of his lower back, Harry stretched. Before starting this job, he'd thought he was in good shape. A few days of lugging boxes of books around the shop had taught him differently. Oh, he could still run, and he could probably play a decent pickup game of Quidditch if asked, but he clearly needed to work on his upper body strength.

At least the job was good for something, he thought, because he certainly wasn't getting anywhere with the investigation. No suspicious characters hanging around the tip jar. Unless you counted Mrs Macomber, the pensioner who came in every other day at ten minutes to eleven with her hair in rollers. She read _Women's Weekly_, wattle flapping as her lips shaped every word, ate a toasted tea cake with treacle and a jam tart, and washed it all down with a pot of tea. When that was done, she spent another half an hour bent over a card and a biro, coming up with her latest scheme for improving the shop and winning the Tip of the Month. Harry could have told her that she was wasting her time, but he figured that was at least half the point. She probably had nothing but time to waste.

Since he was in the wizarding side of the store, Harry pulled his wand from his boot-sheath and banished the empty boxes to the store room. A copy of Carspeth's _Everyday Spells_ in hand, he walked down the narrow aisle to the correct section and squeezed it onto the shelf. At first, this overcrowded room had made him a bit claustrophobic with its floor-to-ceiling bookcases and the winding rabbit warren of aisles. But now he loved being back here, curling up with a book in one of the nooks created by the arrangement. The security spells meant that Snape could always find him, he knew that, but at least he was safe from Meredith's annoying, giggling, disturbing presence.

He wished he knew why the Squib bothered him so much. She wasn't exactly a threat. There was just something about her that made him uncomfortable. His watch buzzed against his wrist, reminding him about his lunch break. He just wished that he could avoid going back over to the Muggle side and talking with Meredith. Unfortunately, that would defeat his purpose for being here.

Harry tapped a nearby shelf with his wand. When the bookcase swung out on creaky hinges, he stepped through to the main aisle.

"Hullo, Harry." Jeremy waved from the counter where he was serving a couple of giggling witches. Short and chubby, Jeremy had a permanent squint, a blinding smile, and a contagious belly laugh, and was one of the most cheerful people Harry had ever met. Despite Jeremy's self-described basic brown hair, basic brown eyes, and serviceable brown robes, his cheerfulness always reminded Harry of Tonks.

"I'm just heading back over to eat my lunch. You need anything?"

"Mine's warming in back. Margie packed in my absolute fave pudding today." Jeremy rubbed his stomach, eyes alight with glee. "Hold on a tick, will you?"

While Jeremy made change and chatted up the witches a bit more, Harry ran his fingers over the display near the till. Wizarding books always felt much more enticing than their Muggle counterparts. Leather and cut parchment. And spells that left his fingertips tingling. He hummed tunelessly as he straightened books, sorted them back into the right order, and drew the least favoured ones to the centre. That done, he selected a book to read with his lunch, and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"That's it, then." Jeremy rubbed his hands as he walked back from the now-locked door. "Tell himself that I'm putting the sign out and closing up for half an hour or so." He bent down under the counter, retrieving a bag with the multi-coloured WWW insignia of the Weasley shop. "And if you don't mind taking this to Meredith. It's just that our Mari asked me to bring it for her and I'm not exactly dressed for t'other side."

Harry took the bag and went to push back the strings of carved wooden beads that hung in front of the passage to the Muggle shop. The clack of the beads would trigger the monitoring spell and notify Severus someone was crossing through the barrier. He stepped through the archway, shivering as the chill of a disillusionment charm slipped over his body. On the other side, he turned around and looked back. A large poster advertising a Shakespearean festival covered what looked like a solid wall. He considered it, wondering what the Muggles saw when someone passed through.

Because Severus was busy with a customer, Harry flipped his hand in the sign that was the equivalent of passing on Jeremy's message. A curl of Severus' upper lip signalled that he understood.

The noise from the lunch crowd enfolded Harry when he pushed through the glass door that kept the noise out of the shop - with a little help from a set of silencing and muffling spells. Most of the tables were full. Students chattered over their computers and books. Housewives curved their heads towards each other and shared the latest gossip. Kids too young for school kicked at chairs and banged spoons. The occasional office worker hunched over a book and the special of the day, as if he or she could hoard enough privacy to make it through the afternoon.

"Jeremy says it's from 'our Mari'," Harry said as he handed the bag over to Meredith.

"That's just the thing I've been waiting for. Ta, Harry." Eyes gleaming with an unidentifiable, uncomfortable something, Meredith stowed the gift away without opening it. She cocked her head towards a table in the corner and giggled. "Looks like your usual's free."

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned. He wished he knew what it was about her. There wasn't really anything not to like. She seemed like just another annoying kid, even if she was only a couple of years younger than him.

"All right there, Harry?"

"Yeah," he said and dredged up a smile. "Tuesday's a bad day, is all. Orders coming in on the one side and getting set up for inventory and ordering on the other."

"Why don't you go get settled in, then, before some prat sneaks the table? I'll bring your special over when it's ready."

"Thanks, Meredith. I'll..." He trailed off when she got that odd look again, then rallied himself to continue, "um, just do that then."

His usual table was tucked against the barrier between the shop and the café. Harry sat down in his usual chair, opened his book, and then craned his neck just a little bit. The tip jar sat on top of a low bookcase on the other side of the glass, innocuous despite its rainbow paint job and the portentous message it had once held. Snape, on the other hand, was anything but innocuous. The man was a strange mixture of predictable and unpredictable, especially in those Muggle clothes with his hair hanging forward to partially cover his face.

Once again, Harry fought the urge to go over to the man, reach forward, and tuck those strands behind an ear. He didn't understand this sudden desire to find out how that black hair felt. Snape the shop proprietor seemed so different from the teacher he remembered. The man spent his days perched behind the counter, brooding over the till. When business was slow, Snape buried his considerable nose in a book, a paper, or a journal. Most unexpectedly, he was usually on the Muggle side, rarely on the Diagon Alley side. His biting sarcasm hadn't changed, but most of the customers laughed and gave it right back at him.

Instead of long robes, Snape wore a jacket. A jacket he never took off, so Harry could see what his arse looked like in those nicely fitted trousers. Harry sighed and rubbed at his eyes. Tired, that was all, and desperately needing to get laid. Maybe he should go clubbing over the weekend, get it all out of his system before next week and stop his brain from wandering down that distracting path.

Meredith dropped off his soup and sandwich special, then bounced her way back across to serve some new customers. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and went back to his book and his subjects. Not so many years ago, he would have been convinced that Snape was behind the notes and threats. He couldn't fathom why he was so absolutely sure this threat didn't come from Snape, why he trusted the man who had once helped to make his life more of a living hell than it already was. This wasn't just about Snape's memories. Nothing in them could have prepared him for what he saw in this shop, in this shop's proprietor.

Harry dipped his spoon into the thick barley soup and slurped its cooling contents. Snape was with a regular now. Some kind of teacher or writer, Harry guessed, given the way the man dressed. Whatever their conversation, whichever books they opened, pointed to, and waved at - all that was irrelevant. It was the light in Snape's eyes, the way his lips quirked into an almost-smile, the way his hair flew when he shook his head. Those didn't match with the Snape Harry remembered. And one thing was certain: anything about Snape that didn't make sense tended to come back and bite Harry on the arse.

"Finally got your comeuppance, I hear."

Taken by surprise, Harry dropped his spoon with a clatter, swallowed the soup in his mouth, and held his serviette over his mouth when he wasn't sure if the cough was going to bring it all back up again.

Justin Finch-Fletchley rested his elbows on the back of an empty chair. His clothing was fashionably tight and visibly expensive. His curly hair had been tamed by an expert stylist, probably by the same twerp who'd insisted that Harry would look better with his hair up off his forehead. And Justin looked as amusedly self-righteous as he had the day he walked out on Harry. "I must say that finding your place in the world doesn't seem to have improved your vocabulary."

"Shut it, Justin." Harry pushed back from the table. "You're ruining my appetite."

"What's the matter? Snape got you working like a house elf?" Justin moved until he was leaning against the table next to Harry's food, so close that Harry was overwhelmed by the cologne the prat bathed himself in.

"At least I'm doing something with myself and not just poncing around like the world owes me a living."

"The world does owe you a living. Take a tip from me, Harry darling. Wake up and start taking advantage of it."

"Still rattling along on that old broom," Harry said. "Why don't you just give it a rest and find yourself a new one?"

"At least I'm enjoying my life, instead of moping around like some I could name." Justin straightened and gestured at a table by the window, occupied by three men and two women who looked and dressed a lot like him. "You could come join us. Take the afternoon off, remind yourself of what it's like to have fun, to push the envelope just that much further every day, to be alive."

"I said no--" Harry hesitated, seriously tempted to hex Justin, even if it meant obliviating every Muggle in the vicinity.

"We could go to Allert's. You do remember how much fun we had that night, don't you?"

How much fun you had, Harry thought, remembering how humiliated he had felt by Justin's need to parade Harry and their relationship in front of his friends and strangers. Not wanting yet another public scene, he simply shook his head.

"Harry," Justin wheedled, extending the last syllable of the name.

"I think," a voice cut in smoothly, "that Mr Potter has a lot of work to do this afternoon and very few hours left to do it in."

"You think?" Justin swung around. His face paled when he saw the speaker.

"You should try it some time. It really doesn't hurt that much," Severus sneered.

Relief and an easily quashable - thank Merlin - desire to snicker flushed through Harry as Justin muttered something ungracious and sauntered off to join his friends under Severus' watchful eye.

"You are not paid to wool-gather or to enjoy yourself with your friends, Potter." Severus turned back to Harry. "Jeremy informs me that the Parsimon delivery has arrived. If it is not too much trouble, perhaps you could return to your oh-so-onerous duties. Unless they are too much for you, in which case..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you'll gladly dock the time from my oh-so-generous pay." Harry picked up his book in one hand and the remains of his sandwich in the other. For no reason that he could identify, Harry smiled through the rest of the workday.

*

"Sit." Severus pointed at the chair on the other side of the desk. "We can talk when everyone else has gone home."

Curious, Draco surveyed the small, overcrowded office in the back of Ashwinder's. The one wall that was not taken up by bookcases contained a series of filing cabinets. Defying Draco's expectations, however, the room was both clean and tidy. Nothing was out of place. Even the papers in the wooden in and out trays were neatly stacked. The only thing out of place was the brightly coloured cauldron that Severus dropped in the centre of the desk. Draco flicked his fingers at the tip jar. "That _thing_ takes hideous to an entirely new level."

"In more ways than merely the obvious. To appreciate the true depths of its depravity, you need only read a selection of its contents." He grunted and upended the cauldron, scattering close to a dozen cards and folded squares of parchment on the surface of the desk. With his wand, he cast Resero Scriptor on them. Each of the tips glowed blue, indicating that the writer could be identified. Nothing useful, he thought, and began to put them back into the tip jar unread.

"Not going to read any of them?" Draco reached out and touched the closest card.

"Be my guest," Severus sneered. "I already know that I could care less."

Gingerly, Draco picked up the card. "Provide table service in the café. Serving ourselves is getting old." He shrugged and dropped the card into the cauldron. "That makes perfect sense to me."

"It would." Severus resisted the urge to point out how unbecoming Draco's pout was on an adult.

A soft chime sounded from a crystal orb on the desk.

"What was that?"

Severus stroked the orb. "Jeremy has left for the day."

"I'm almost done an' all, Mr S." Meredith Colson stood in the doorway, rocking from side to side, fiddling with the handles of her bag.

Ignoring Draco's choked snort, Severus said, "Have a good evening."

"Will do." She grinned, "You enjoy yours, too." Meredith glanced at Draco, who was watching her with a curious expression on his face, and her grin faded a little. She took a few steps towards him and held out her hand. "I'm Meredith Colson."

"Draco Malfoy." He shook her hand with the same caution that he'd used to pick up the tip.

Stupidity's not contagious, Severus wanted to snap. Instead, he forced his expression into bland lines and paid close attention to their interaction. As Meredith blithered on about her usual absurdities, Draco donned a mask of civility that Severus hadn't seen since Lucius was alive.

After a few minutes of their banter, Severus had had enough. "Did you require something further, Miss Colson?"

"Not unless you're willing to give me a raise?"

"Not likely."

"Then I'll be off. Ta ta, Mr S."

Severus held up a finger, keeping Draco quiet until the orb chimed to indicate that Meredith had left the premises. After activating the security and monitoring spells to ensure that the shop was actually deserted, Severus said, "Care to explain?"

"You let her call you that?"

"Don't be obtuse."

"Seriously, Severus. You let her get away with that?"

One-track mind, Severus thought, then said, "She's worse than Potter ever dreamed of being and, since she's a Squib, there is little with which I can threaten her without endangering myself."

"She's still employed."

"Meredith is very popular with the customers and very good at managing the café." Severus steepled his fingers. "She is also potentially responsible for dropping the so-called tips in my cauldron. What would you have me do? Fire her for being an annoying bint and lose track of a likely suspect? Believe me, if ickle Meredith is not involved, I will kick her disgustingly cheerful, bouncing bum to the kerb as soon as this is over."

"Does she remind you of anyone?"

"Other than innumerable dunderheaded students? No," Severus said. "With that unbearable attitude, I would have remembered her if she had been a student in one of my classes."

"Perhaps I know her from somewhere else?"

"All things considered, that possibility is even more worrisome." Severus leaned back in his chair and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Perkins did the usual background checks before he hired her. Can you run her by your Ministry contacts?"

"I'll start first thing tomorrow, after I get the school records." Draco pulled a notebook out of the pocket of his robes and wrote in it with the attached mini-quill.

"Good." With an effort, Severus moved the problem of Meredith Colson into another compartment of his brain. "Now, shall we discuss what brought you here tonight, given that we're meeting tomorrow?"

Draco stowed away his notebook, settled into his chair, and crossed one leg over the other. "Remember that time in my seventh year, when you persuaded me to give Longbottom shelter from the Carrows, and you promised a favour in return?"

Severus raised an eyebrow in counterpoint to the sinking of his stomach.

"Good." Draco smiled. "When this is all over, Charlie and I are making a commitment and moving in together. I need your assistance handling Mother. Charlie thinks Ron and Harry will help alleviate any Weasley fallout."

Severus just stared at Draco. A Malfoy and a Weasley bonded. The world might be a little tilted on its axis these days, but something very much like hope burned inside him. If he was lucky, that wasn't what was making him feel sick.

*

Harry walked into the sitting room at Grimmauld Place. A wooden tray trailed in his wake, bearing a teapot, a mug, a milk pitcher, a sugar bowl, and a plate piled with chocolate biscuits. He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Regulus' portrait, leaning back against the armchair that he'd moved into place earlier. At a flick of his wand, the tray settled down beside him.

"All comfy now, are you?" Regulus smirked down at him.

"I'll do for now, yeah." Harry sucked some of the chocolate off a Jaffa Cake, feeling some of the day's stress ease away. "What? Wednesday's my bad day at the shop, all right, with me doing inventory and Snape checking my work when he does the ordering. I'm entitled to a bit of a treat to get myself ready for tonight's meeting."

"Sounds like a perfect excuse for a treat to me." Regulus peered down at the plate. "Indulge this chocolate-deprived old portrait, what kind do you have?"

"Mmm." Harry leaned over the plate, poking carefully at its contents. "Jaffas, a few chocolate volcanoes, some milk chocolate digestives, some chocolate-caramel ones, and a bunch of whatever these are." He held up a small, square biscuit with a jam centre in his free hand, and then put the whole thing in his mouth. "S'good, mind you."

"I can tell."

"I'd offer, but..."

"The thought counts," Regulus sighed. "I'm telling you. When it comes time for you to be painted, think about what your portrait's going to need to amuse himself for the foreseeable."

Harry swallowed down his mouthful of Jaffa, licking the chocolate and orange filling off his lips and fingers. "Hadn't really thought about it before, but that's a good point. All sorts of things you could find yourself wanting in the not-quite-afterlife. Really requires more than one portrait by the time all's said and done."

"Exactly," Regulus said and settled back into the chair, feet dangling over the arm. "Now that you're all sorted, you said you had some questions for me."

"Not really," Harry admitted. "I just wanted to talk to you, get to know Sirius' brother."

"How did you know Sirius?"

"He was my godfather." Harry stared down at his fingers. He no longer blamed himself for Sirius' death, but that didn't make it any easier to talk about. "He... he died saving my life."

"Good. He always wanted to go out a hero, vanquishing the forces of evil and all that." Harry's head snapped up at Regulus' words. "I assume he left you this house."

Harry nodded. "And the Black family vaults."

"Even better," Regulus replied. "And now that we're past that awkward bit, what would you like to talk about?"

"You were a year younger than Sirius?"

"Yes." A strange expression twisted across Regulus' face. "Although he was still in school when I..."

"When you... yeah." Harry sighed and picked up a chocolate volcano, angling it so the chocolate filling erupted into his mouth. They both sat quietly, Regulus stroking Dubh, until Harry had finished his biscuit. "I used to think that we had it hard at school, with Voldemort coming back and someone trying to kill me every year. But it wasn't any easier for you, was it? Considering who was at school with you. At least he was dead by the time we finished."

"I can't speak for the other houses, but the Dark Lord was all over Slytherin. If you weren't with him, then Bella and the others definitely treated you as if you were against him. Not that most of us were given much choice by our families. House unity was not a problem."

"Seemed like the same when I was at Hogwarts, at least from the outside. Draco and the rest of the Slytherins in my year were always ganging up on me and the other Gryffindors."

"It was my brother and his Gryffindor Marauders doing the ganging up when I was in school." Regulus shrugged.

Harry flushed. Some days he really wished his dad had had a bit more consideration for the people who'd have to deal with the shit he left behind. "I saw, erm, heard about... Uh, well, I know I look like him, but I'm not him, and I'm not like him, and I'm sorry he did it, all right?" He smiled fondly at the memory of an invisibility cloak and snow, the Shrieking Shack and a shrieking Malfoy. "Of course, I'm not sorry for all of the pranks _I_ pulled in school."

"It would have served James right if he'd lived to bring you up," Regulus snorted. "And don't you worry. I'm not holding a grudge."

"That makes one of you, then. Snape's held my father against me since the day I walked into Hogwarts. Probably before that, for all I know." Harry frowned, lines wrinkling through the scar on his forehead, as he thought about the fight he'd had with Snape in the storeroom that afternoon, over a bloody book order, of all things. "You knew Snape, right? You were both in school together, in the same house."

"Ye-es."

"Do you have any suggestions to help me get along with him? I know I can't force him to like me. Occasionally I'd like not to set him off. That's all. I'm nowhere near as stupid as he thinks, as he makes me feel. But then he starts in on me and I've got three left feet, all stuck in my mouth. I end up sounding like a right prat."

"You want to impress Severus?"

That wasn't what he wanted, was it? Impressing Snape? Harry raked a hand through his hair, scratched his scalp, and rubbed his neck. "Don't think I _could_ impress him. I'm not smart enough, although I do read books now and again." Harry shrugged. "Snape's brain is a frightening place. Worse than Hermione's, and she was far and away the brightest of our year."

Regulus grinned. "He does tend to skip from A to Z without paying attention to the stops in between."

"Yeah, and he expects everyone else to make the leap with him." Harry prodded a biscuit disconsolately. "By the time I've figured out what stops I'm missing, he's already off on the next subject, and I'm left with my mouth hanging open, looking like a berk."

"Now you're having me on. How stupid do you think I am?" Regulus raised an eyebrow.

A grin twitched at the edges of Harry's mouth, curled up his lips on one side. "All right, so maybe I'm exaggerating a bit."

"A bit?"

"More than a bit?"

"How often do you wind him up by pretending not to know what he's talking about, or by acting down to his assumptions?"

"More often than he'd appreciate or I'll ever admit."

"Then stop it. And don't blame Severus for disliking you if you're always acting like someone else." Regulus shook his head. "I swear you deserve each other, the way you act."

"Oi," Harry shot back, then clamped his lips shut when the Floo whooshed into action. Before the visitor arrived, he tilted his head sideways at the portrait. "Stick around this time?"

But Regulus had already disappeared. The portrait featured only a disgruntled cat busily cleaning his butt.

*

"Would it hurt you unbearably to clean your Floo occasionally, Potter?" Severus batted at the cloud of soot and dust that rose from his robes when he raised his wand for the banishing spell.

"It might. I'll let you know if I ever try it." Harry yanked his plate off the floor just before Severus tromped on the remaining biscuits.

The movement spread the scent of chocolate in the air and made Severus' nose twitch. He peered over Harry's shoulder at the plate and selected a biscuit. "A chocolate volcano, how did you know that was my favourite?"

"I'm an excellent host?"

"Of course you are." Severus smirked and flipped his hair back out of the way. He lifted the volcano to his lips, poked his tongue into the crater. He had to suppress a moan when the warm, dark chocolate centre spurted into his mouth. Eating the things in public was tantamount to indecent exposure.

He was sucking the last of the melted milk chocolate off his fingers when Harry made the strangest of noises. Unwilling to relinquish the finger he was currently cleaning, Severus tilted his head in inquiry.

"N... nothing." Harry looked down at the plate and then back up at Severus. "Would you," he cleared his throat, "like another?"

Severus murmured a mild cleaning spell to remove any residual stickiness from his hand, then returned his attention to Harry. The boy - no, the man - always bore watching when he started acting more strangely than usual. "One is sufficient, and I, at least, respect my limits."

"Limits." Harry paused. Then, after a glance at that damned portrait, he squared his shoulders and met Severus' eyes. "Limits are a bit like expectations, really. You don't want to set them too low."

"Indeed." Severus raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure whether to be impressed or concerned that Potter had just attempted a riposte. Still, he should give credit where credit was due. "A palpable hit, Mr Potter."

Harry's gaze flew upward to meet Severus' eyes, and a shadow of his schoolboy recklessness curled the edges of his mouth. "You could call me Harry." He shrugged. "I'm not in school any more, and we are working together, for a while at least. No reason not to be on a first-name basis, is there?"

At Harry's presumption, a wave of resentment for his own mistaken impression crested through Severus. Potter hadn't changed at all. He still had to take that one step too far, grasping for what he wanted without waiting for it to be offered.

Harry wetted a forefinger and reached up to stroke it across the corner of Severus' mouth. "You have some chocolate," he explained. Then his tongue came out and licked the forefinger clean.

Severus stared. The words of his crushing retort were lost in the feeling of that damned finger on his skin. Had Potter just made a pass at him?

The front door slammed open, and Charlie yelled, "Harry."

Severus let out a long breath. The interruption was a relief, he told himself.

"We're in here," Harry called back.

"Grab your kit." Charlie's hair stuck up on one side, as if he'd been running his hand through it for hours. "St Mungo's, now."

"Why?" Harry stretched out his hand and summoned his robe.

"What is so important that it trumps our meeting?" Severus ducked as Harry's outer robe sailed over his head. Still no consideration, he thought.

"It's Hermione," Charlie said, motioning Harry towards the Floo. "She's having the baby."

"Oh fuck, no. It's a month too early, maybe two." Harry slung his robe on, shaking his right arm when his wand got stuck in the sleeve. Despite the worry-crease between his eyebrows, Harry's green eyes were bright.

With anticipation, Severus decided. Harry was excited at the idea of someone having a baby. What would he be like when it was his baby? Biting back a sigh of exasperation, Severus leant over and pulled Harry's sleeve straight. He made a shooing motion. "Go. Our discussion can wait until tomorrow night, or later if need be."

Charlie paused before following Harry into the Floo. After grabbing some powder, he handed the bowl to Severus. "Can you wait for Draco? Let him know what's happening?" He shook his head. "I know what he and they were like in school, all right. No-one's going to expect him to come, but," he released a sigh, "can you ask him to wait up for me here, yeah?"

"Of course. If there is anything else, do not hesitate to call on me."

"Thanks." Charlie grinned over his shoulder as he stepped into the green flames. "Wish me luck, yeah?"

Alone in the room, Severus replaced the bowl on the mantel and walked over to Regulus' portrait. The fingers of one hand pressed to the spot Potter had touched, he traced the raised lettering of the nameplate with the forefinger of his other hand. "I will not ask what you do when you are here, my old friend. I merely hope you exercise due caution."

Dubh raised his head to stare at him, yawned widely, and hissed. Severus bared his teeth in return and then, in a swirl of black robes, went to the library.

*

The distinctive odour of St Mungo's - potions, cheap cleanser, badly washed bodies, infection, hopelessness - hit Harry's nose with the sledgehammer of memory. Too many people visited. Too much time spent here in the months, years, after the war. Too many times walking down the same institutional hallways, sitting on identically uncomfortable chairs. Even now, even needing to be with Hermione and Ron, he desperately wanted to turn around, go back to Grimmauld Place, and hide. What had he been thinking? Touching the man like that? Harry curled his hand around the offending forefinger, remembering the feel of soft skin and rough stubble. He wriggled his hips, trying to unobtrusively adjust his half-hard prick in his trousers. God, he was royally fucked if such a slight touch could do this to him. More importantly, when had that happened and how could he make it stop before Severus bloody-minded Snape got wind of it?

He followed Charlie into the waiting room where Molly, Arthur, Bill, and Fleur were huddled with the Grangers in a group of seats at the far end. George and Ron were hovering in front of them.

"C'mon." Charlie cocked his head. "No-one's going to bite, you know. Even Ginny's forgiven you. Besides, if my family cared about you liking men, they'd hardly welcome me home, now would they?"

What about liking Severus Snape, Harry wondered, would they care about that? Making a serious mental effort to put that worry behind him, he took one step, then another, then another. He was here for Ron, but he couldn't take his eyes off Molly. Then she smiled at him and held out her arms in welcome. When she hugged him, more than two years after he'd walked out on Ginny, he finally believed that all really was forgiven.

"Harry, mate. You made it." Face so pale that his freckles shone like stop lights, Ron clutched at Harry and wrenched him out of Molly's embrace. Clinging tightly, Ron towed Harry along as he paced and bounced. "She's in there, yeah. Except they won't let me in, and this bloody prat," he gestured at George, "refused to help me bust in. Can you believe it? You'd think he was getting old, growing up, or something equally silly."

Confused, Harry looked at George, who mouthed, "Your problem now," and dragged Charlie away to sit with the rest of the Weasleys and the Grangers.

"But you'll do it, yeah? Because we're mates." Ron stroked the front of Harry's robe. "Good mates. Always getting each other's backs, being there when something needs doing, whatever it takes, yeah?"

"Erm, all right, Ron." Harry patted him on the back, slung an arm across his shoulders - or as close as he could manage with someone that much taller - and started for the other end of the hallway. "We need a plan first, though. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

And so Harry walked and walked, and Ron talked and talked: about the doctor's appointment that morning when everything seemed to be fine; the fight they'd had over whether Hermione should have gone back to work afterwards; the arguments over the colour of the baby's room, the baby's name, whether the baby should be christened in the Muggle way; why Ron was so fucking stupid that he hadn't appreciated what Hermione was going through.

By the time they'd sucked down the cokes that Fleur gave them, eaten their way through the sweets that George handed them every time they turned around, when Harry was about ready to yell for someone, anyone, to take his place because his shoulder was giving up the ghost and his feet were screaming blue murder, the doors from the birthing room opened from the inside.

"Ron?" Cho Chang stood in front of the swinging doors. She wore the pale green robes of a nursing sister. A matching cap covered her neat bun. Cho's smile was practised: a professional smile that didn't reach her eyes or give away the slightest hint about what was happening to Hermione.

She looked tired, Harry thought. Still pretty, but as if something essential had been stripped away from the girl he vaguely remembered kissing. He steered Ron towards her. When it became clear that Ron had lost the ability to speak, Harry said, "He's right here."

"You've got a baby girl, Ron."

A sob erupted from Ron's chest. He shook harder. "Her... Hermione?"

Cho's eyes hardened and then returned to their normal complacency so fast that Harry wondered if he'd really seen anything different. She reached out and patted Ron's hand. "Hermione's going to be fine. Healer Corner just needs a few more minutes with her. I'll let you know when you can go in to see her." She marched back through the doors.

Sobbing and muttering, Ron collapsed on Harry and would have crashed them both to the floor if George and Bill hadn't been there to prop them up.

With no regret whatsoever, Harry abandoned Ron to his mother and sister-in-law. He went with George and Bill to join Charlie in the queue for the sweet trolley. Harry asked George, "Did you know Cho Chang had gone in for healing?"

"And you call yourself an Auror. What is this world coming to, I ask you?" George made a great production of sighing. "I heard she couldn't cut it in mediwizard training."

"And now she works the children's ward," Harry said and then turned to the trolley lady, pointing at a display of pasties. "I'll have a couple of those." He dug in his pocket and handed over a few more coins than needed, waving off her attempt to give him change.

George bit off half his chunk of nougat and chewed. With his teeth stuck together, his words came out a bit slurred. "She works for David Corner."

"Michael's older brother?"

"Yeah. I give them a deal at the store so they can stock up on treats for the kids. They run a bunch of school clinics as well as working at St Mungo's." George popped the rest of the nougat in his mouth.

And I bet that includes the one at Tonks-Thomas, Harry thought to himself. He flopped down into a chair, groaning when he hit the hard plastic. "Maybe I should figure out how to get this place a deal on comfy chairs."

"Mmm?" George mumbled, jaws clearly stuck together with nougat. He covered his mouth with one hand to obscure the wiggling of the fingers of his other hand.

Harry started eating one of his pasties to hide his smile. George just kept trying to get his teeth unstuck.

"Harry, if you like, you can go back as well." Cho didn't even attempt a smile this time.

He swallowed his mouthful hastily. Wiping his hands on a serviette, he was about to toss the rest of the food in the nearest bin when George reached out and took it from him. "No sense wasting it."

Harry hurried to catch up with Cho. On the other side of the door, while they waited for a stretcher to be floated from one room to another, he felt compelled to break the uncomfortable silence. "So, erm, you keep busy, I guess, with the hospital and the schools?"

"You could say that."

"I'd, um, well, if it were me, I'd like the schools best, I think. Getting to spend time with all the kids." No wonder Snape thinks you're stupid, Harry berated himself silently.

"The school clinics are fine." She made a moue of distaste. "You don't have to pretend that we're friends. I don't know why you want to know, but whatever. I work four days a week with a Healer, David Corner. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays at St Mungo's. On Wednesdays, we rotate between the clinics at four schools. Which means we spend about one day a month at each school." She glared at him. "Anything else you feel entitled to know about my life, or would you like to see your goddaughter?"

Not unless you know anyone interested in blowing up a school. Aloud, he said, "Definitely time to see the baby or Hermione will have my guts for garters."

*

"Cormorant eggs are cheaper and provide a smoother finish," Severus parroted in a high-pitched voice, and then snorted. "Utter drivel written by a blithering idiot. As for his publisher," he dropped _Potions for the Discerning House Witch_ on top of the teetering stack that reached from his feet almost to his knees, "if they weren't already out of business, I would ensure it. For the safety and sanity of all." He picked up another book from the coffee table and flicked through the pages. Then, holding the cover gingerly with his fingertips, he dropped that book onto the stack without comment.

Book released, his fingers stole back up to the side of his mouth, pressed on the spot Potter had touched. Wiping away chocolate, indeed. The brat actually implied that he was a messy eater. Because there could not, under any circumstances, be another interpretation of that presumptuous act, could there? Severus released a breath - most definitely not a sigh - and dragged his hand back down to the arm of his chair and his attention back to the books he'd borrowed.

Two books remained on the coffee table out of the pile he'd brought from the library. Severus checked the clock on the mantel. A bloody Muggle clock that told nothing but the time. Why couldn't Potter invest in a normal clock with some useful functions, like Molly Weasley's?

After almost three hours, not that he was counting, when Severus was pacing away from the sitting room window in a flap of robes, the Floo finally activated. Green flames flared and then died. By the fourth time the Floo activated, he was kneeling in front of the hearth. When a hand bearing the Malfoy signet reached out from the fire, he grasped it with both of his hands and heaved.

Draco fell through in a flurry of soot, ash, smoke, and dirty, torn robes.

"Draco," Severus barked. An old fear raised its head, licked his vocal cords into raspiness, as he laid Draco on the carpet in front of the fireplace and looked for wounds. He found none.

"Fuck," Draco said, grey eyes shining and wild. "I knew there was a good reason I didn't miss that shit."

"You're fine." It wasn't quite a question.

"For most definitions, where fine is relative, yes, I'm fine." Draco levered himself into a sitting position. "I need a drink."

"Kreacher," Snape called out. When the ancient house-elf popped into sight, locket bouncing on his narrow chest, Snape ordered tea and firewhisky.

Kreacher bobbed and flapped his ears. "Master Harry Potter is not telling Kreacher to take orders from a Snape. My mistress didn't like Snapes in her house."

Severus growled. Couldn't Potter even control his house elf?

Draco sighed. "Kreacher, will you get it for me? With two cups and two glasses, please?"

If elves could harrumph, then Kreacher would have done so. "Mister Malfoy is looking terrible. Is Mister Malfoy wanting Kreacher to draw him a bath after tea and firewhisky?"

"Just the drinks." After Kreacher popped out, Draco reached for Severus' hand. Between them, they got him upright and over to the settee. Draco examined his torn robes, curling his lip when he was able to poke his hand through several of the rips. "Ruined," he complained. "And they're the only work robes I have in grey and green. Harry will have to replace them."

"Why Potter?"

"The Ministry are too cheap to pay the full cost of replacing them, even if the damage was done while I was pursuing their investigation."

"And you think Potter will?"

"Certainly," Draco said. He accepted the perfectly brewed cup of tea that Kreacher handed him. "Harry's got a guilt streak a mile wide and five deep."

"Indeed?"

"How do you think I got a job with the Ministry after they confiscated all of Father's holdings in the name of reparations?" Sipping his tea, Draco looked composed. However, the slight rattle when he placed the cup back on the saucer betrayed the trembling of his hands. "I shoved my pride into a mental cupboard and went to thank the Chosen Git for saving my life. After I made sure that one conversation led to another, he was all over the idea of helping me make my own reparations to the Wizarding World." Draco frowned. "I cannot understand why he can't help himself, if he can manipulate Ministry channels that well for someone else."

"Interesting," Severus said, and then filed the thought away for future pondering. "However, if you can drag your mind back to the present, would you care to explain what happened to you and your clothing tonight?"

Another sigh, this one slightly more dramatic, as Draco reclined into a semi-sitting position without letting go of his cup or spilling a single drop of tea. A talent of sorts, Severus thought, but yet another avoidance tactic. "Draco? My patience is more limited than ever."

Draco smirked. "Severus, has anyone ever told you that you're a bit of an obsessive?"

"What I _am_ is ready to return to my own home."

"It's rather boring actually," Draco explained. "I spent my day going over the education budget for the upcoming fiscal year. And, honestly, if I thought the Aurors were bad, you should see the mess they're in down there."

Severus looked longingly at the decanter of firewhisky, but decided restraint was the better part of valour. He poured a cup of tea instead.

"Before that, though, I ran a quick check on your café manager. According to the Ministry and my other sources, Meredith Colson is exactly what and who she claims to be. She's a Squib who spent most of the war attending a Muggle school in London." Draco's nose wrinkled.

The tea had definitely been the better choice, helping to settle whatever had started roiling in his stomach when he heard that Miss Colson might merely be a problem for another day.

"After that it was row after row of mismatched figures with Clearwater, Vane, and Simonston hovering over me and trying some quite outrageous explanations on for size." He frowned. "A question about a budget item gave me an excuse to send Simonston off to get me information about all of the schools, which means," Draco placed his cup on the arm of the settee and waved a hand in the direction of his abandoned robes, "Accio wand and files."

His robes fluttered and humped until his wand and a small square of parchment extricated themselves and sailed over to him. Wand in hand, he expanded the square of parchment to normal size. He smoothed the parchment out and continued, "I had this copied and in my robes shortly after the lunch break. At the end of the day, I stopped by my office and cached another copy in my secure cupboard just in case. I lost an hour or so to the memos piled on my desk. After that," Draco paused, frowning, "after that I... I'm not sure what happened. The next thing I remember is standing in the lift. My robes were torn, my head was throbbing, and I was too dizzy to walk without holding on to something."

"You have no idea what happened?" Severus leaned forward and moved the firewhisky out of Draco's reach. Whether it had been a spell or a hit over the head, the last thing Draco needed was alcohol.

Draco shook his head, then winced. He reached up and pushed the heel of his hand against his left temple. "Not a clue."

"Do you mind if I try to find out?" Severus moved to sit on the coffee table, facing Draco.

"I'd be relieved. My memory already has a sufficient number of holes, thanks to my dearly departed father and his cronies."

"Legilimens." Severus pushed into Draco's mind. With expertise born of years of practice, he watched the flickering images stream past, pausing the film when an image seemed to relate to the current day. The sheer number of grey spaces that spoke of memory charms amazed him. Severus had known that Lucius regularly obliviated Narcissa and Draco to protect them (and himself) from interrogation and potential betrayal, but he'd had no idea Lucius had done it so often.

He watched as Draco disguised the copy as a financial spreadsheet and locked it away. A tap of Draco's wand reheated his tea. Another wave of his wand had two ledgers winging their way from a set of shelves and arranging themselves on Draco's desk. The columns and numbers meant nothing to Severus, but Draco moved from ledger to ledger, running his forefinger down rows and columns, following some kind of trail. A noise outside made Draco sit up and then everything went black. Not the grey of obliviation. A dark, dense black that remained until Draco was in the lift, watching the doors close and the tail of a plain black robe disappear down the hall.

When Severus exited Draco's mind, they were no longer alone. Harry stood beside Severus, and Charlie was on the settee with Draco. For once, Severus was relieved to note, no-one started talking immediately. Charlie had Draco in his arms, hands running over the younger man's body, as if to reassure himself that no permanent damage had been done. Harry remained where he was, head tilted slightly, his quizzical gaze swinging between Severus and Draco.

Since they were back and not looking frayed about the edges, Severus assumed that the latest Weasley terror had been born safely. However, if they hadn't found it sufficiently important to comment upon, he didn't care enough to ask.

"Are you hurt?" Charlie asked.

Draco leaned into Charlie and whinged, "My head feels as if someone whacked it with a pair of bludgers. I've got a bloody great lump above my left ear." Draco moved Charlie's hand so he could feel the spot. "And I can't remember a damned thing."

"Without the ability to work Priori Incantatem on Draco, we have no way of knowing who attacked him," Severus said. "Legilimency shows a black space in his memories. All I can say with any confidence is that the gap was definitely not caused by standard obliviation, as that creates a clearly recognisable grey interval."

"And this gap is what?" Charlie asked.

"A black void in his memories that..." Severus paused. There was a vague familiarity about that dense black. "I have seen it before..." He trailed off, cudgelling his brain cells to remember.

"One of Voldemort's tricks? Or maybe another Death Eater?" Harry moved closer to Severus. His whole body seemed to quiver with curiosity, intense and fierce. If only he'd shown that same curiosity at school.

Focussed on Harry, on the memory sparked by that need to know, Severus picked up the thread. "Not in the second rising, but in the first," Severus mused. "Rabastan perhaps, or possibly Amycus, had a talent for erasing memories. He abjured the usual memory charms, preferring an irreversible dark spell that was occasionally a little too effective. Aboleo? Effligo?"

"If it's permanent, does it matter which spell or curse was used on me?"

"Probably not." Charlie ran a soothing hand down Draco's back.

"On the other hand," Severus continued when Draco's whine started to increase in volume, "before the attack, he obtained a copy of the staff records for Tonks-Thomas, and he confirmed that Miss Colson is who she says she is."

"Or that someone named Meredith Colson exists and the person who works for you was able to take over her identity without leaving a visible trail." Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

Determined little bugger, Severus thought, unwilling to give Harry the satisfaction of knowing that his doubts mirrored Severus' own. Then, looking at Harry again, he corrected himself: perhaps not such a little bugger. Harry was only a couple of inches shorter than he was. And when had he started thinking of him as Harry instead of Potter?

"Do you mind?" Draco objected. "I resent you impugning my abilities."

"You're not a trained Auror," Harry replied.

Draco drew himself up, while still remaining within Charlie's arms. "I am a very good, very well trained financial investigator. Searching through records is my speciality."

"Might as well give it up, Harry," Charlie said, smiling broadly. "Aurors are not the only kind of detective in the Ministry, and you know it."

Severus' lips twitched and he suppressed a snicker at the matching mulish expressions on Harry and Draco's faces.

Surprisingly, Harry capitulated first. He expelled a long breath and shook his head. "All right. She's innocent until and unless we find something else that points to her guilt."

"That's satisfactory." Draco raised his hand to his left temple and the whine edged his voice again. "Now, unless someone else feels compelled to abuse me, I require a pain potion and assistance in getting to my bed."

"Only needed to ask, love." Charlie slipped his arms under Draco and stood up, cradling him. His glare pinned Severus and then Harry in place. "If anyone needs us _tomorrow_, we'll be in our room."

When the sounds of Charlie clomping up the stairs with his burden disappeared, Severus reached for the decanter. He held up an empty glass in query to Harry and was unsurprised at the "God, please" response.

Harry brought Draco's abandoned robes to the settee and went through them methodically, occasionally stopping to retrieve his wand and mutter a spell. Surprisingly, all of the pockets, even the hidden ones that Harry's spell exposed, were empty. Forehead creased, Harry looked at Severus. "Does that seem right to you? Draco always seems to have everything he needs in his pockets."

"He tends to put his possessions away neatly," Severus said thoughtfully, "but he's learnt to be prepared for almost anything that might transpire."

"We could ask..." Harry's voice trailed away. Their eyes met and they said simultaneously, "Tomorrow."

"After work," Severus added and handed Harry a glass of firewhisky. "Unless you can extract information from Draco first thing in the morning."

"Er, no, thanks." Harry raised his glass and took a long swallow. "So, was he always like that?"

"Draco?"

"Nah, the Queen of Sheba." Harry made a face. "He was a total prat at school. You know, bullying nemesis and all that."

"If I remember correctly, and I always do, the bullying and the nemesis attitude went both ways."

"Well, yeah, maybe. But that's beside the point. I remember him acting the bully, with his minions and his pretensions and his neo-Death Eater posing, but I don't remember the whole drama queen thing."

"Your memory must be slipping more than usual." Severus crossed one leg over the other. "I have one word for you: hippogriff."

"God, yeah. How could I have forgotten that?" Harry snickered. "At least he's pretty transparent about it. I'll give him that."

"Are you suggesting that Draco isn't capable of manipulating others to get his way?"

"Hardly," Harry shrugged. "I'm just one example of that."

"Oh?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"Nothing much to tell, really, or at least nothing you probably don't already know." Harry sipped at his drink. Severus waited patiently, knowing that the other man would be more likely to speak if he didn't say anything that could be used to change the subject. Eventually, after refilling his glass and drinking half of that down, Harry continued, looking thoughtful, "I was researching Muggle fighting methods during Auror training and came across a reference to hara-kiri. Ritual suicide seemed like this weird and alien thing until I heard about Lucius Malfoy killing himself rather than go through a trial that would destroy the family name. He didn't slice open his stomach, but the purpose was the same. And I got why he did it."

Severus made a noise indicating his agreement, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

"Anyway, after that happened, when it became clear that the press and most everyone else was satisfied with his father's sacrifice and that Draco would be left alone, he came to me." Harry chewed on his bottom lip. "I sent him away the first couple of times. A year later, about two years after Voldemort's death, on the anniversary of his father's suicide, he tried again. Don't know what had changed for him, but somehow he'd worked it out. He didn't demand anything. Just thanked me for saving his life and talked about making reparations for what had happened. When he finally manoeuvred the conversation around to what he wanted, I figured what the hell. He was still a prat with expectations, but at least he was trying."

"Very trying," Severus managed to get out.

"That too, yeah."

They settled into silence and drinking. Severus watched Harry, who seemed to become more fascinated with the flames with each swallow. Despite everything that had happened over the past ten days, he was most intrigued by the two versions of how Harry had helped Draco. And that disturbed him deeply.

*

By Friday afternoon, Harry was restless and trying to distract himself from worrying about his upcoming visit to Tonks-Thomas. After several owl exchanges, they'd settled on next Wednesday as the day, with Harry scheduled to arrive at ten o'clock. The headmaster insisted that "the children will be so excited", assured him that they would restrict themselves to a "small assembly" and reminded Harry of "how important it is for them to know that the Chosen One was Muggle-raised". Even in writing, the man seemed to talk in quotations.

"Hey, Harry." Meredith held a mug out to him. "I thought you might be ready for a break."

"Thanks. After helping Mrs Chaudhury out with her monthly book club order, I'm definitely ready for something." Harry pasted a smile on his face and took the mug from her. A cappuccino, just the way he liked it. "S'good."

"I'm glad." She stood there, fiddling with the towel tucked through the belt loops of her jeans, eyes fixed on his shoes.

He glanced down. Same trainers he always wore to work. No holes or ragged edges. Still, she was up to something. He knew it. "How're things going on your side?"

"Oh, you know, it's that dull time between the afternoon tea ladies and closing up. Mr S said he'd keep an eye out for me so I could pop to the loo."

"I won't keep you, then. Thanks again for the coffee." Harry took a sip and licked the foam off his lips. She didn't take the hint. Just kept standing there and fidgeting. He put the cappuccino down, suddenly wondering whether he should have tested it for poison and nasty potions before drinking.

"So?" he prompted. "Was there something else?"

"Well," she said, and started playing with the zip on her cardigan, running it up and down. "There's this weird thing."

"And?"

She finally raised her eyes to look into his. Something flickered through them too fast for him to identify. Her tongue pushed out and picked at the corner of her mouth, where the skin was already inflamed. As if reaching a painful decision, she sighed and said, "Look, I'm sure it's nothing."

Uh huh, he thought, but said nothing. He leant back against a nearby bookcase and waited.

"I wouldn't have said anything, but I don't want to cause trouble for you or anyone else. It's just that... well, you know how you covered for me just before lunch?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. The back of his neck prickled in warning.

"Well." She shifted from one foot to another. That odd flicker went through her eyes again. When she eventually continued, the words came out in a rush, as if she was forcing herself to say them. "I counted the till after the breakfast rush, like I always do, and then did another just now, and they don't add up."

"You're worried Snape will blame you?"

She shook her head so vigorously that her spikes whipped around and then drooped. "No. No. He wouldn't do that. He trusts _me_. It's you I'm worried about."

"Me? You must be joking." Harry almost choked on his laughter. "He'd never believe that I would steal from him."

But as she babbled her explanations, Harry realised that he at least needed to give her the impression that he was worried about her accusation. A surreptitious check of his watch showed ten minutes to closing. He cut off whatever Meredith was saying. "Thanks. I appreciate the heads-up, but it's really okay because I didn't take anything from the till."

"You're sure?" Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"I'm sure, yeah. Snape and I have known each other a long time." He took a deep breath, tried to look as if a sliver of doubt had entered his mind. Feigning a nervous babble, he said, "I mean, he's accused me of stealing before, but it wasn't... I was a kid in school, and I was cleared later... so there's no reason to think he'd accuse me now, is there?"

"Long as you're sure, then."

"I'm sure. Honest. I'll see you Monday, yeah?" Harry turned around and started for the back room without waiting for her reply. A couple of minutes later, he waved goodbye to Jeremy and walked towards the public Floos in Diagon Alley.

*

Severus locked the door behind the last customer and used his wand to activate the security and monitoring spells on this part of the shop. He grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose against his incipient headache. He sighed with relief after turning the lights down.

"All right, Mr S?" Meredith bounced over.

"I will be," he gritted out. No-one should be that perky. It ought to be illegal.

"I had a good day in the caff. There won't be many day-olds tomorrow, I can tell you." She handed over a heavy money box. "Here you go. The count's on top as usual."

He looked at her curiously. She usually dropped the box off in his office on her way out. He pushed a little, "Anything I need to be aware of?"

"I had to recount a few times, but I think I got it to come out right in the end. You might want to check to be sure."

"I always do."

She played with a purple bra strap that had slipped out from under her patchy blue and yellow jumper and generally did a terrible job of looking bothered by something.

"Was there something else?"

"Not really." She hesitated, chewing on a fingernail. "Unless you want to know about Harry skiving off early."

"He did, did he?"

"Looked like something got up his nose, if you ask me."

Which I didn't, Severus thought. So why are you telling me all of this? He ducked behind the counter to check the security on the café in his orb, then picked up the money box from his own till and headed for his office. He listened for the clopping of her boot heels against the wooden floor and was not disappointed. The bint was following him.

*

Most people walking around Diagon Alley were clearly on their way home or heading for one of the restaurants or pubs. As Harry passed the open door to The Gryphon's Lair, he pushed past a large group who were arguing over whether this was where they'd agreed to meet their friends. Maybe if they hadn't been there, he'd have succumbed to the temptation, but one of the voices sounded vaguely familiar and he really wasn't up for pretending to be social.

He'd rather spend the time with someone who didn't feel the need to impress him - like Snape the other night. And wasn't that a weird thought: him feeling comfortable around Severus Snape. Would wonders never cease?

Pulling up the hood of his cloak to avoid notice, Harry allowed his thoughts to drift back to Meredith's accusations. What if she was trying to get Snape alone? He paused. Should he go back? Wait to make sure Snape got out of there safely? Going to the man's house would be in the cards, if he had a clue where it was. Maybe Draco would tell him.

A sidestep into the narrow entrance to Flower Passage took him around a couple of women who were deep in an argument about someone's boyfriend. He was almost back at the pavement when hands grabbed him from behind, dragging him into the dark side street and strangling him with his own cloak. Reaching for the fastening, he had almost released himself when a blow across his lower back caused him to stumble.

"Fuck," Harry yelled and pulled his wand free of its sheath. If he'd had any luck, his Stupefy would have taken out one of his attackers, but the slam of the second blow across the back of his thighs spoiled his aim. He weaved sideways and avoided another half-seen blow. The ones that followed sent him crashing to his knees, screaming with pain and frustration.

*

"Was there something else, Miss Colson?" Severus asked. He bent down to place the money boxes in the safe, angling his body so that he didn't lose sight of her.

She stood in the doorway to his office, bouncing on her toes, twisting the bottom of her jumper between her fingers. "I was just thinking, Mr S."

Closing the safe, he stood up and pinched the bridge of his nose again. He moved to his desk, retrieving a headache potion from the drawer. "That is almost worthy of celebration."

"Oh, you," she giggled and flapped a hand at him. "You come out with some of the strangest things."

"What do you want?"

"Well, I was just wondering..." A glance at her watch led to a sly smile. "Would you be willing to let me have Harry in the café on a morning? With that new building across the street, I'm having a hard time keeping up. And with the way the coffee machine's set up, it would be dead easy for someone to get their hands in the till while my back's turned."

"With a queue of people waiting?"

"You never know, Mr S. You just never know." Meredith checked her watch again. "Just think on it, all right?"

"If you are done, I really must close up," he said and moved towards her, grimly satisfied when she backed up. He escorted her to the Diagon Alley exit and closed up after her. Her absurd insinuations about Harry could wait until tomorrow. Instinct made him hesitate before activating the Floo.

A walk back through the shop brought him to the tip jar. His sense of foreboding increased as he reached inside. Only one tip tonight.

> _Who will save the Saviour?  
> Death's Furies_

"Harry." Severus cursed and raced out to Diagon Alley, his headache forgotten.

*

"Protego Lumos." Harry slumped back to the damp pavement when his shield formed around him, casting a bright light across the alley. A shriek from one of his attackers gave him hope that the edge of his shield had clipped her.

A quick glance around proved that if there had been witnesses, they'd all disappeared. Approximately ten or twelve metres wide, what he could see of Flower Passage held nothing but dustbins, oily puddles of water, clumps of rubbish, and his three attackers.

Not knowing how long he could maintain the shield against their attacks, he stared at each of his assailants. He didn't try to catalogue anything, simply ensured he looked at anything that might be useful. A trip into a Pensieve would provide the details stored in this memory. Still, a few things about the three stood out. Thick black cloaks. White masks with some kind of markings on them. And her. The woman he'd hit with his shield clutched her left arm. Almond-shaped eyes were visible through the too-large eye holes of her mask. A long, thick tress of straight black hair had fallen free of her hood and was starkly visible against the white of her mask.

"Go." The hissed word was too distorted for Harry to identify the speaker. The leader, it seemed, since the others disapparated immediately. "Still the lucky boy," she said. "But not for much longer."

Then Harry was alone, sprawled across the alley, half in a puddle and half on the kerb. Something sharp dug into his side. He tried calling for help, but managed only a hoarse whisper. He crawled towards Diagon Alley. Every movement caused sheer fucking agony to slam into him everywhere he'd been hit. He welcomed the black depths of oblivion like a benediction.

*

"Stupid, stupid boy." Severus knelt as close to Harry as he could get and waited for the encroaching unconsciousness to disperse the shield. It took longer than he expected, but nothing about Harry Potter seemed to happen according to Severus' expectations.

As soon as possible, he moved in to check on Harry, keeping his wand at the ready. Carefully, cautiously, with his free hand, he examined the huddled body and listened to the laboured breathing. Bruising bloody well everywhere, it seemed, and at least a couple of cracked ribs. Cradling Harry gently in his arms, Severus dared a Lumos, holding his wand so that the light was shaded. He cursed when he saw the awkward angle of Harry's left leg.

"Sev'rus?" Harry's voice was hoarse, edged with pain. "You came."

"When have I not?" Severus responded, and then added, "Apparently, like cigarettes, saving you is one of those habits that's nearly impossible to break."

Harry's snicker became a whimper. "Don't make me laugh."

"Not right now, at least," Severus promised. "I have to get you to St Mungo's."

"No. No." Harry tried to push away, only to collapse back against Severus.

Severus shushed him, carded a hand through his hair. "You need medical assistance."

"Not there. Promise?"

"Harry?"

"Can't explain. Just know." Harry reached up a hand to curl it around Severus' neck. "There was something about one of them. Not sure what."

"You recognised one of your assailants?"

"Need a Pensieve, but I think so, yeah."

Severus sat silently, hand continuing to move through Harry's hair. He didn't want to do this, but he really had no choice. No other place would stock the potions he needed. "This is going to hurt, but it cannot be avoided."

Harry swallowed audibly. "All right."

"Hold on as best as you can and try to stay quiet." When Harry's arms were around his neck, Severus clasped his wand tightly and slipped his other arm beneath Harry's legs. Gritting his teeth to prevent his own grunt from escaping, Severus rose to his feet with an effort.

Harry turned his head into Severus' robes, using the heavy fabric to muffle his moans and whimpers.

A brief moment to steady himself and to secure his grip on the man in his arms, then Severus closed out everything except the image of his own sitting room.

*

The crack of Severus apparating into the sitting room jerked Regulus out of what passed for a doze these days. He stared at his friend, who stood in the middle of the room, head bowed, nose buried in tangled black hair, clutching an unconscious Harry Potter as if his life depended upon him. Severus never brought anyone to his flat. After a moment's silence, he asked, "Severus, why did you bring him here?"

"Because he said no to St Mungo's and there's nowhere else I trust." Transfiguring the small settee into a narrow bed, Severus laid Harry down gently. An Incendio heated up the fire. Another spell lit the candelabra.

A partial explanation at best, Regulus thought, but decided to leave Severus his illusions.

"Watch him," Severus growled and left the room.

Regulus walked to the edge of his frame where he had a better view of Harry, who was moving slowly and restlessly towards consciousness. One of his hands reached off the bed, fingers stretching out and clutching at the air. His whimpers of pain made Regulus wish that he could step out of his portrait, hold Harry's hand, do something. Anything would be better than being forced to stand there and watch. He settled for talking, murmuring, "You're safe, Harry" and other useless platitudes. When Harry calmed down and stopped grasping at the air, Regulus' relief was incalculable.

Intent as he was on Harry, Regulus was surprised into silence by Severus' return. Damp strands of hair clung to Severus' face. He'd also taken off his robes and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. Hissy followed behind him with two trays. One held an assortment of potion phials and the other a steaming bowl of water, some soft cloths, and towels. She had a folded nightshirt in her hands.

"He's almost awake," Regulus said.

Settling on the bed next to Harry, Severus replied, "I almost wish I could leave him unconscious, but setting his leg will likely wake him up."

"It doesn't look like a bad break." And what a hopeless, useless statement that was, Regulus thought.

"Bad enough." Severus removed Harry's glasses and placed them carefully on a side table with both of their wands. Then he took Harry's outstretched hand, and stroked his pale cheek. "Harry, I need you to wake up." Another stroke of his cheek. "Come on, Harry."

"Sev'rus?" Harry mumbled with his eyes closed.

"I'm here. You're safe."

Regulus sank down cross-legged. Watching how Severus took care of Harry filled him with a faint, aching hope for Severus' future.

"Not St Mungo's?" Harry asked.

"No. You're in my home." Severus motioned Hissy to bring the trays closer. The elf conjured two small tables and settled the trays on them. "I need to take care of you."

Harry opened his eyes and squinted myopically at Severus. "Okay."

Severus gently wiped Harry's face with a flannel. Then he picked up a potion phial and explained, "I need you to swallow this pain potion." He held Harry's head and tipped the contents of the phial into Harry's mouth. "Now I'm going to remove your clothes so I can see the extent of your injuries."

"Anything to get me naked, huh?"

"After all these years, how can you doubt it?"

Leaning against the frame, Regulus smiled. He certainly didn't have any doubts about that.

A quick spell removed Harry's clothes and dropped them on the floor. Hissy immediately began sorting through them, removing coins, identification, and other oddments from his pockets and placing them on the table with his glasses and wand.

"Your broken leg first." Severus motioned and Hissy took Harry's foot. "This is going to hurt."

"Like it doesn't already," Harry forced out between gritted teeth. "Just do it."

Hissy yanked Harry's foot down and Severus used a spell to guide the broken femur back into place and repair the break. Harry's scream had Severus wincing and Regulus attempting to chew on his nails.

"Ferula," Severus said. Bandages spun up Harry's leg and strapped it tightly to a splint. "I'll take this off tomorrow, but you must keep your weight off your leg for a minimum of twelve hours to give the repaired bone time to strengthen. Now, drink this. It will speed the healing of your cracked ribs and your leg."

"Fuck, I'd forgotten how much that burns." Harry's face was paler and sheened with sweat again. His teeth dug into his lower lip. "At least they got the ribs on my other side. Would hate to break the same ones twice."

"Do you find that myth of considerate attackers beneficial?"

"No laughing. Severus, you promised. Oh, fuck. Fuck."

"Stay still. Unless you want to interfere with the healing process." Severus placed a hand in the centre of Harry's chest and waited for him to settle down. Then, with a combination of cleaning spells and soapy water, Severus washed the dirt off Harry's front, carefully avoiding the groin area. When everything was clean, he applied thick, yellow bruise-healing paste to the bruises that covered Harry's left side. After the paste had sunk into the skin, he helped Harry to roll over. Harry's back and thighs were covered with more bruises.

"God, Severus, what were they using? Quidditch bats?" Regulus asked.

"Felt like it," Harry responded. After a brief pause, he added, "Regulus."

"Hey, Harry." Well, that's one kneazle out of the bag, Regulus thought. He'd wanted to play with Harry a little bit longer before persuading Severus to reveal the location of his other frame. There were so few advantages to being a portrait, after all.

Severus just smirked at Regulus and continued cleaning and applying salve to Harry's back until he'd tended to every bruise. He slid his hand one last time over a particularly nasty bruise on the curve of Harry's backside - absolutely necessary to ensure that the salve was properly applied - then helped Harry turn over onto his back.

Hissy gathered together everything but two potion phials and popped out with them.

"Wish I could lie on my shoulders," Harry muttered. "I think they're about the only part of my body that doesn't hurt."

"You should be feeling much better by tomorrow morning," Severus reassured him. "Although I'd like you to keep the splint on your leg until I get home from the shop, to ensure that the femur has healed sufficiently to bear your weight."

"Does this mean I get the day off sick?"

"An unfortunate necessity of your condition," Severus said, making sure that the cushion he'd transfigured into a pillow was suitably comfortable. "However, I may reconsider paying you if you go out and get yourself beaten up again."

Harry snorted, and then clutched at his ribs. "Git."

"When the occasion and the company so demand."

Rolling his eyes at the pair, Regulus couldn't decide who was worse. He definitely required a distraction from their pathetic... mating display. Merlin, he was jealous. All that talk about how he wanted Severus to find someone to settle down with, and when the first real candidate arrived, Regulus was about to sabotage their relationship before it even started. He was a bloody portrait, not a real ex-boyfriend, and it was time he started acting like one. Besides, he smiled to himself, one day they would be portraits as well. If he played his cards right, he just might get to have some fun with both of them.

Clearing his throat to get their attention, he said, "Harry clearly needs to stay here tonight. Shouldn't you let Mr Malfoy and Mr Weasley know?"

Severus scowled, then nodded his agreement. "Given that Draco was attacked in the Ministry, we cannot risk contacting them through the Floo network. There is too much risk that we are being monitored."

"If you're thinking about apparating to Grimmauld Place, don't. I disabled Moody's early Snape warning system, but I haven't done anything about the anti-apparition wards."

"Early Snape warning system?" Severus asked.

"Yeah. Moody took your killing Dumbledore and supposed defection a bit personally." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "After that, going through the front door was, well, it wasn't a welcoming experience for anyone. I can only imagine it would have been worse for you."

"It's a very good thing I didn't expect anyone in the Order to have any faith in me then, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well, I am sorry about that. I just..." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Erm, look, if you hadn't been so bloody obnoxious and, uh, so damn good at being a double agent. Or if you and Dumbledore had trusted a single one of us with even the slightest clue about what was going on. Then, maybe..." He made a face. "Oh, fuck it. You were an unmitigated arsehole, and I was an obsessed kid. We both had more issues than the Daily Prophet, and we treated each other like crap."

"That almost sounds like an apology." Severus' lips twitched.

Of course it's a bloody apology, you berk, Regulus thought. He was going to be due for a medal if they continued being so unbearably ridiculous about this whole thing.

Harry extended his hand. "It is."

"Consider it returned." Severus clasped Harry's hand. They sat there, holding hands, both looking awkward and uncomfortable.

Time to break the mood before they shattered it themselves, Regulus thought. "I could deliver the message to them."

Severus frowned. "What?"

"Malfoy and Weasley. If they're in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, I could let them know that Harry is staying here tonight."

Harry raised himself up on an elbow to look at Regulus. "Even if they're not in the sitting room, you can check the other rooms. I had a conversation with old Headmaster Black the other day. Apparently, the block against moving between portraits was there because they got tired of your mother barging in and screaming at them. With her gone, he was more than happy to help me take it down. He asked me to tell you that he'd love to visit with you next time you're over."

Barely able to comprehend the possibilities opened up by that gesture, Regulus whispered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Easing back down with a groan, Harry muttered, "Shouldn't have done that."

"Drink this." Severus handed him a phial. "The Dreamless Sleep will take effect within a few minutes. I'll leave a dose of pain-relieving potion on the table, but don't take it unless you absolutely need it. Call for Hissy if you need anything. She'll wake me up if necessary."

"As for you." Severus half-turned and looked at Regulus. "It's time for you to get going, so this brat can get some rest."

"Good night." Regulus got up and moved to the back of his portrait. His destination, hidden by the darkness of the void in between, called to him. It sounded like freedom.

*

Harry pushed himself up from the small bed, grabbing the nearby table to stay upright. Keep the splint on, Severus had said, completely forgetting to mention that he was the only one who could remove the bloody thing. With a lurch and a thunk, using furniture to keep his balance when needed, Harry headed for the loo. He wasn't giving Hissy another opportunity to pop in with that damned bedpan. An already healed broken leg did _not_ require him to be bedridden.

His trip to the loo was, well, the best description was 'awkward'. Good thing that cleaning spells worked on the bandages around the splint. Otherwise, he'd have been using the word 'horrid' to describe the whole experience. Severus had fucking better get the splint off so Harry could get into the bath sooner rather than later.

Even Regulus had abandoned him, after refusing to tell him where Severus kept his Pensieve. Damn it. Harry wasn't a kid. He was perfectly capable of watching that attack without making the windows rattle.

Lost in his umpteenth whinge about the unfairness of everything, Harry almost toppled over when Severus stepped out of the Floo behind him. Strong arms slid around his waist, drawing Harry back against Severus, steadying him. Harry let himself sag against the firm chest for a moment, or maybe five. Safe was a good feeling. Too bad he'd never had a chance to get used to it.

"All right, Harry?" Severus' voice was warm against Harry's ear, sending shivers down his spine and raising goosebumps on his skin.

"Yeah." Harry wished he still had his pants. The borrowed nightshirt had been a blessing in dealing with the splint, but... he stopped his mind from going any further down _that_ path. To give himself space, he hopped around to face Severus, managing to stay within his arms. "Get this fucking thing off me before I break something else?" He thumped the splint on the floor.

Severus huffed an almost-laugh. "Mind if I take off my cloak first? Take care of an urgent personal need?"

"If you must."

"I must." Severus smirked. "And soon."

"Fine. Be that way," Harry pouted. Although he was oddly pleased that Severus didn't leave the room until he was safely on the bed.

An hour later, Harry was sitting across the dining table from Severus, feeling more like himself. The splint was gone, he'd had one of the best showers of his life, and he was wearing real clothes - his clothes - cleaned and neatly pressed by Hissy. To his relief, he no longer felt the aftershocks of Severus' hands stroking bruise salve into his skin. He'd even almost forgiven the man for insisting on eating before they talked about the attack or watched the memories.

They ate silently. Tomato soup with garlic and curry leaves was followed by chicken in orange sauce with roasted vegetables. Hissy popped in and out during the meal, delivering courses and removing the dishes and silverware from the previous course. At Severus' insistence, Harry was restricted to non-alcoholic drinks. At least Severus also drank sparkling water.

Pudding was brilliant: a chocolate concoction that was so good it had to have a fancy foreign name. Harry poured a liberal amount of cream over the top. The first mouthful almost had him moaning around the spoon. A quick peek at Severus confirmed that if Harry did end up voicing his pleasure, he wouldn't be the only one. Seriously, the way that man ate chocolate was almost pornographic. Sucking, licking, swallowing. Tongue flickering out to lick the pudding off his lips before Harry could even consider reaching out to wipe it off.

Then he caught a glitter that looked like amusement in Severus' eyes - the git - and Harry almost flipped the pudding on his spoon at him. Except that that would be a total waste, not to mention that it would tempt him, yet again, to clean chocolate off that soft skin. And, honestly, what was he doing? Getting along with Snape was one thing. Being attracted to him was on a completely different level that bordered on insanity.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip and furtively adjusted his trousers. Time for a change of subject. Feeling both virtuous and frustrated when he discarded his impulse to insist they talk about the attack, he decided that it would just have to bloody well be okay to talk about the events leading up to it. "How was the shop today? Did Meredith mention anything about me?"

"The shop was as always. Miss Colson asked why you were not at work. When I told her that I had received notice that you were ill today, she managed a passably bad imitation of a concerned co-worker."

"Did she bring up anything else about me?"

"Not today." Severus dabbed at his lips with his napkin and pushed his bowl away.

Harry checked his glasses - not too dirty to see through - and put them back on. "She..." He flushed, then continued, "She said there was money missing from the till and accused me of taking it. Idiot thought you'd believe her over me."

"Hardly." Severus sighed. "I ... might ... possibly have made one or two unfounded accusations in the past, but I no longer believe that of you."

"We ... might ... possibly both have made accusations like that once or twice." Relief coloured Harry's voice. He'd known Severus would believe him. He hadn't known how much he needed to have the man say it. "I didn't steal from you. Not this time, or any of the other times."

"Good." Severus pursed his lips. "I find it interesting that Miss Colson did not accuse you outright. She suggested to me that there was money missing from the till, implied that you had been acting strangely, and then left me to draw the appropriate conclusion. Only someone who knows intimate details of our history, but little of our present, would have any confidence that tactic would be effective."

"So what was Meredith up to, then? Draco seemed to think that she was okay, but after last night..."

"Assuming that our suspicions are correct, there is considerably more to Miss Colson than Draco was able to find out." Severus tapped long fingers on the table. "If her accusation was designed to send you out distracted and unprepared to defend yourself, then she is likely also responsible for depositing those tips in my tip jar."

"You have a Pensieve." Harry made it a statement, not a question. "We should watch my memory of last night and then make a list of suspects."

"Agreed." Severus called for Hissy. Within a few minutes, the table was cleared and his Pensieve sat between them.

Harry put his wand at his temple, and focussed, retrieving two silver strings of memory. "I figured you'd want to watch me and Meredith, as well as the attack."

When Severus emerged from the first memory, he looked grim. He didn't comment on what he'd seen, simply gestured and suggested that they view the attack together. Harry just managed to stop himself from asking Severus to hold his hand.

Apparently they _had_ used Quidditch bats, Harry realised as he watched the scene unfold. He flinched at the blows to his upper thighs and lower back. He kept telling himself that he was watching something that had already happened, that they couldn't hurt him this time around. Then one attacker's bat swung down in an arc, and the sounds of Harry's femur breaking and his scream echoed in the alley, and he needed to do something, anything to make this stop.

Aiming his wand at the one who had broken his leg, Harry yelled, "Cru--"

Only to be cut off by Severus' hand over his mouth. "No. I don't need to discover what that curse will do inside a Pensieve."

"Fuck," Harry cursed and pulled away. He clenched his fists, wand biting into the palm of his right hand. When he regained control, the memory had almost reached the point where he had started recording information about his attackers and stopped just reacting to the blows. He waved at Severus, who had a purposefully blank expression - only the tic of a muscle in Severus' cheek gave any clue about his emotional state.

His attackers were all women, Harry was sure of it, although only one mask had slipped and made identification possible. Even that would have been difficult if Harry hadn't spent so much time with Cho in fifth year. Although why the hell she was involved in this was beyond him.

When Harry floated up and out of the memory, a familiar swooping sensation roiled through his belly. With his feet once again solidly on the ground, his anger and frustration returned. Curling around his wand, holding it tightly to his chest, he fought against the craving to strike out, to hurt, to destroy. But it wasn't enough.

His magic sparked the air around them. Harry fought to contain it, to pull it back. But it would not be restrained. So he fell back on his training. He funnelled the excess magic into one destructive burst.

Wood splintered. Paper, leather, cardboard charred and singed. Black smoke puffed from the hole punched through a bookcase. Acrid heat filled the room, irritated their eyes, noses, throats.

Harry waved his wand again, and the air was clean and sweet.

"You are a very lucky man." Severus leant against the mantel, cradling a crystal dragon in his arms. "Three inches to the right and you would have destroyed the only thing I have left of my mother's."

"Oh god," Harry groaned. He could barely bring himself to look at Severus. "I couldn't stop, tried to limit the damage."

"And you did, for the most part. I expect, however, full repayment for the cost of replacing my books." A pause and then Severus continued, "If I were you, I'd consider myself lucky that I do not shelve rare or irreplaceable volumes near the fireplace."

Harry sank down onto the floor, shuddering with relief. "Books? Oh thank god, I only hit books."

"For some values of _only_, yes."

Sod the books, Harry thought. He could have hit Severus. He could have _killed_ Severus. And then Harry's stomach was heaving. Head between his knees, he swallowed bile again and again.

After a few minutes, Severus knelt down beside Harry and handed him a glass of water. "If you're finished, perhaps we can work on something slightly more constructive."

Gratitude for Severus' understanding flashed through Harry. He thought for a moment and then asked, "Do you have plain paper and coloured pencils?"

"Likely not, but I am sure I have acceptable substitutes."

"The memory is useful, but I prefer to have something a little easier to access for my files." Accepting parchment and a pair of self-inking quills in black and a very familiar shade of red from him, Harry sat down at the table. A quick spell stopped the ink from spreading on the absorbent parchment and kept his lines clean. He sketched the mask first. As a base, he used the basic shape of the masks worn by Death Eaters. Working from memory, he used the red quill to outline the eye holes and add a fall of tears down each side. Black had to do for the shapes that came out from the sides and anchored the mask to the cloak. The lighting in the alley had been dim, but he was reasonably sure that these were snakes.

"Erinyes," Severus said from the seat he'd taken next to Harry. "With the requisite bleeding eyes and writhing serpents in their hair."

"Out for vengeance? Something like that, I think."

Snape angled the sketch so he could see it better. "Ghosts of murdered and betrayed women. Virgil gave names to only three of them, but there were others who remained nameless."

"We have a minimum of three women, who are most likely looking to exact retribution for Voldemort's death. Here's what we do know." Harry took a second sheet of parchment. He drew a line across the middle horizontally, then created two columns in the top half. He titled the left column Furies and the other Potentials. In the left column, he wrote Cho Chang. On the right, he listed Meredith Colson, Pansy Parkinson, and Penelope Clearwater. He paused and then added Jeremy Higginsmith and a question mark. In the bottom half, he wrote Attacks and then noted:

> _Festellaen (DM, SS)  
> Ministry (DM)  
> Diagon Alley/Ashwinder's (HP)  
> Tonks-Thomas (HP? SS?)_

Tapping the end of his quill against the Potentials column, Harry said, "My instincts tell me that we're missing someone, but I haven't a clue who."

Severus thought for a moment, deepening the vertical line between his eyebrows, drumming his fingers on the table. He shook his head. "I have no doubt that you are correct. However," he laid a finger against Pansy Parkinson's name, "as sure as you are about Miss Chang, I am equally convinced that Miss Parkinson was not among your attackers. Neither of the other women had the correct build."

"If Penelope wasn't one of them, there has to be somebody else. The timing gives Meredith an alibi." Harry massaged the back of his neck, trying to ease the tightness. "Of course, if I were following protocol, I'd also include all of the shop regulars. They also have access to the tip jar."

"I am hardly on a first-name basis with my customers, no matter how regularly they visit the shop."

"I didn't expect you to be. We could track those who pay by card, but I highly doubt any of the Furies would do that."

"And those few who sign their tips are old age pensioners," Severus added.

"Bloody hell, this is next to impossible without Auror resources."

Severus, when he finally responded, spoke quietly but forcefully. "We cannot go back to the Ministry. There's something..." He held up a hand when Harry started to speak. "Object if you must, but do me the courtesy of not interrupting."

Harry nodded.

"To put it plainly, I do not trust your supervisor, Mahlingren." Severus ticked each item off on his fingers, an audible edge to his voice. "She agreed far too easily to every one of our requests at that first meeting. She has officially assigned a pair of Aurors whom you and Draco both agree are inept. She redirected the Festellaen investigation away from us, even though the spelled note was placed under my plate. Last but not least - and please correct me if I'm working under a misapprehension - she has not once attempted to contact you through Draco, the communication channel we agreed upon, nor has she responded to any of the information or requests that Draco has passed on to her."

Harry stared at the parchment. Each tick of Severus' fingers seemed to go straight through him, turning the ache in his neck into a sharp pain that spiked up into his head. He wanted to argue, to defend her, but he could not find a single fact to refute any of Severus' accusations. Finally, he sighed and added Lotte Mahlingren to the Potentials column. Head bowed, he closed his eyes, one of his hands continuing its futile attempt to ease the tension in the back of his neck.

The sound of chair legs moving back on carpet alerted Harry that Severus was moving. Then warm fingers pushed Harry's aside. Harry moaned at the sensation. Goosebumps prickled the skin of his back and arms. Warmth spread down and outward from Severus' talented hands as they eased the tight muscles.

"Feels good." Harry bent his neck to give Severus better access.

"Does it, now," Severus murmured.

Working in small circles, Severus' fingers and thumbs pressed up into the dents at the base of Harry's skull, then moved up onto his scalp. Harry bit his lip to keep from whimpering. Merlin, those hands were amazing.

"How are your shoulders?"

"They used to be the one part of my body that didn't hurt."

"Let me take care of them, then."

"I'm not going to argue, if that's what you're thinking. Even I'm not that stupid."

Severus' thumbs put just the right amount of pressure on the vertebrae between his shoulder blades. Something cracked back into place and Harry sighed with the pleasure-pain of it. "God, that's brilliant."

"Sit sideways on the chair, so I can get to your sacrum."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, not even caring what his sacrum might be when it was at home.

Severus' hands slid down Harry's spine and started working on his lower back.

Harry arched into the massage. Severus was so close now that his nose brushed against Harry's hair, his breath whispered across the back of Harry's neck. It was all perfect and it was all too much and nowhere near enough. Harry flattened his palms on his thighs. This is Severus, he reminded himself. Snape. The greasy git. But that didn't really matter right then, and he knew it.

Severus' thumbs skated up either side of Harry's spine, swept along his shoulders, and were gone.

They both stayed still for a moment. Then Harry twisted around. Severus was still crouched behind him, one hand on the back of the chair for balance. Their faces were inches apart, at the same level. Harry licked his lips, saw Severus's eyes follow the movement.

"Better now?" Severus' voice was silky smooth.

"Much better, thank you," Harry said. He watched Severus' lips. They were thin, yes, but looked softer than he had expected.

Not tonight, Harry thought. He couldn't deal with this tonight. So he reached up, touched Severus' cheek, and said, "I should get going."

Dark eyes grave and serious, Severus inclined his head. "Yes, you should."

"So, tomorrow night, then?" Harry asked. "I'll make sure Charlie and Draco are there, so we can compare notes and figure out what we're doing on Wednesday."

"'Til it be morrow," Severus said, straightening up. He handed Harry a small bag. "You'll need these potions."

"Thanks." As Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the box on the mantel, he found himself looking up. Regulus' smirk and salacious wink flustered him so much that he ended up falling flat on his arse in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place.

*


	3. Week 3: Adjusting the flame

Harry stayed in bed late on Sunday morning. Just before eleven o'clock, after he'd rolled over and gone back to sleep at least twice, Charlie barged into his bedroom. Instinctively grabbing hold of the wand under his pillow, Harry was reminded yet again that he should remember to set wards on the room before going to sleep.

"Breakfast," Charlie announced, and held out a plate of toasted ham and cheese sandwiches and a large mug of tea. He looked like he'd been up for hours.

"Umm... thanks, I think." Harry yawned and stretched. He laid his wand on the bedside table, ignoring Charlie's raised eyebrows, and took the plate and mug from him. After a quick slurp of tea, he put them both next to his wand and flipped back the covers. "Back in a sec."

By the time Harry returned from the loo, Charlie had made himself comfortable on the bed. He was leaning back against one of the posts and had conjured himself up a cup of tea. Harry hiked up his pyjama bottoms, which had slipped down his hips, and got back under the covers. Plate settled on his lap, he alternated between eating and drinking, and waited for Charlie to get around to what he wanted.

"So, Harry," Charlie said, just as Harry finished the last sandwich on his plate.

When Charlie didn't continue, Harry bit his lip to hide his grin and said, "So, Charlie."

Charlie wiped his hand across his freckled forehead, shoving his hair out of his eyes, and then attempted to drink from his empty mug. "Look, Harry."

More silence. Thinking that this could take some time, Harry called for Kreacher and got him to bring more tea for both of them. Half a mug and no conversation later, Harry lost patience with his friend. "What do you want, Charlie? It would have to be pretty damn bad for me to turn you down. You know that, right?"

"I just--" Charlie sighed, the pause lasting only a couple of seconds this time "--bloody hell, Harry, I didn't expect it to be so hard to ask you for help with my folks."

"You and Draco finally making a commitment?"

"We've been that obvious, huh?"

"Sort of, yeah."

"Merlin, Harry. Never thought it would happen to me, but we're dead serious about this, about each other." Charlie paled, making his freckles stand out even more. "But you know how it is in my family. We don't exactly have a blood feud with the Malfoys, but..."

"Don't I know it. I've been forced to listen to Ron rabbiting on and on and on about Draco more times than I can count. And Ginny never forgave Lucius Malfoy for what happened in her first year." Harry grimaced. "Sometimes I wonder who'd win a grudge-holding competition. The Weasleys, the Malfoys, or Severus."

"It's Severus now, huh?"

"He saved my life the other night. Hard to call him Snape when you owe a man like that, isn't it?" Harry flushed, surprised by his slip. When had he started thinking of Snape as Severus? Last night, when... he flushed again.

"In that case, you should have been calling him Severus since first year." Charlie's smile was slow to form but incandescent. "Just be careful, all right? Don't want to see either of you get hurt."

"Nothing to get hurt about, at least not right now," Harry muttered, bunching the covers up over his treacherous prick as he adamantly shoved away the picture his imagination presented of Severus leaning against his bedpost: all long, lean muscles with miles of pale skin, and those bloody marvellous hands. He coughed, cleared his throat, and presented his favourite bit of indisputable logic. "Besides, it's not as if he likes me. Not after the way he treated me for all those years."

"He wasn't exactly a nice guy when I was in school, but nothing like some of the stories you and Ron tell. You ever consider how much of that was circumstance? You know, all that stuff with Voldemort and the spying and having to teach classes filled with Death Eaters and their mortal enemy without giving himself away."

"I haven't spent that much time thinking about it," Harry lied. He drank the last of his tea to gain a bit of space and settle the odd, warm fluttering in his stomach that Charlie's comment had caused. "Anyway," he changed the subject, "if I survive the roadshow on Wednesday, I'm all yours."

"Thanks, mate. Appreciate it." Charlie squeezed Harry's foot through the covers and got off the bed. "We're not planning anything until at least next weekend. That should give you loads of time to breathe after you've saved the school."

"You're welcome... I think."

Holding the door open with one hand, Charlie stopped and turned around. "Almost forgot. Ron and Hermione said that if you don't show up at their place after lunch today, they're going to reconsider having you as Rose's godfather."

*

Severus ate at his desk that Sunday. He picked at his ploughman's lunch with one hand, and used the quill in the other to scatter red notations on a draft article for the issue he'd been invited to edit for _The Experimental Potions Journal_. If the subject matter hadn't been so interesting, he would have tossed this one with its mawkish, run-on sentences on the reject pile with the rest of the useless blathering the journal editors had forwarded.

Leaving an inkblot at the end of the last sentence, he jotted a quick set of instructions on a fresh piece of parchment and rolled it all up neatly. Strix, his large black banded owl, waited patiently while Severus attached the package, and then winged off through the open window.

"Now where were we before you so rudely interrupted me with work?" Regulus leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting in his cupped hands. "Ah, yes, I remember, we were talking about your newfound and apparently - for no reason I can imagine - inconvenient attraction to Harry Potter. Honestly, Severus, I don't understand why you see it as a problem. He's clearly gaining an appreciation of your more... positive... attributes."

"The boy is a menace," Severus said. He did not want to have this discussion. Not today.

"And you're exaggerating. Which can only mean one thing."

"Leave it," Severus snarled. He dragged another article off the pile on his desk. A glance at the first paragraph proved it to be based on shoddier research than the rest, and that was saying something. He shoved it and the rest of them onto the floor, managing, with unusual luck, not to send his cup of coffee flying off the desk with them.

"Oh, I think not. This is simply too delicious."

"Regulus," Severus warned.

"What? You're allowed to moon and moan over Harry half the night and most of the morning, but I make one comment and he's off limits? I don't think so. Besides, after the other night, he owes you a life debt."

"Like _that_ means anything. He's owed me life debts before. Many, many lovely life debts, built up year after year, saving the brat's life again and again. All mine for the taking. And what does he go and do? First, he has the nerve to go back to that hellhole and save my life, and then the audacity to clear my name. Wiping the slate clean without so much as a by-your-leave."

"Well, I, for one, am glad that he took the time to yank you back from the brink of death. Frankly, you protest too much." Regulus yawned and stretched ostentatiously. "Why don't you just bugger the lad, Severus, and get him out of your system?"

"Why don't I just turn you around and let you annoy the wall for a change?"

"Because I'll abandon you for my other portrait and leave you to stew in your own juices?"

"I should have known you'd end up throwing that in my face." Severus hated that he was starting to be amused. Was there anything worse than being jollied out of a wonderfully rotten mood by a portrait?

Regulus shrugged. "It's not as if I have much to hold over you, is it?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"And you've changed the subject. Again. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"Let it go." Severus slammed his fist on the desk, rattling his cup in its saucer.

"No."

Severus closed his eyes. He could get up and walk away, but that would only delay the inevitable. Regulus, as a portrait, had more patience than the sixteen-year-old boy had ever dreamt of. To end the awkward silence, he spoke, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. "Even if I were attracted to him - and that is an immense if - what on earth makes you think that he would even consider returning the favour?"

"I merely have to watch him to know that, Severus. Whether he's conscious of what's happening, I can't tell you, but his every move betrays his awareness of your presence."

"And if you're mistaken?"

"Then what have you lost?"

"If I make my move too soon, I'll never know, will I? And therein lies the rub."

"Speaking of rubs," Regulus glanced over his shoulder, "I believe I hear Phineas calling my name." He blew a kiss at Snape and snickered. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."

Snape snorted and raised his cup. "Sweet peace is more like it."

When Regulus was gone, Severus allowed himself to lean back in his chair. Fingers steepled, he stared into the distance. What if he dared take the leap that Regulus recommended? Images filled his mind: pressing himself against Harry, embracing Harry, kissing Harry, blowing Harry, thrusting into Harry.

Harder than he had been in years if not decades, Severus groaned and pressed his fingers against the orbits of his eyes. He was utterly fucked, and not in a good way.

*

At one o'clock exactly, Harry stepped out of the Floo into Ron and Hermione's kitchen and was hit by a soot-cleansing spell. From Ron on one side and Hermione on the other. He bit back a scathing remark - maybe he _had_ been spending a bit too much time with Severus - and moved to join Hermione at the table. Ron started the kettle.

Harry loved this room. If he ever got around to moving, he wanted a kitchen just like this one, full of light brought in by long windows on two sides and glass doors that led to the back garden. Although, he thought, it was normally less cluttered and a whole lot cleaner than it was today. And eau-de-nappy really wasn't a great substitute for the smell of home-cooked food.

A cry from under the blanket lying across Hermione's shoulders and upper chest reminded Harry of the reason for the changes. He took another look at his friends. Clearly neither one of them had slept much in days. Hermione's hair was bushing out in a way that it hadn't done since she discovered Sleek-Easy hair potions. At least her clothes were neat and clean, or at least as much of them as Harry could see. Ron's hair was sticking out in all directions, and he was wearing a pyjama top over a pair of ratty shorts.

Guilt stabbed Harry's conscience. He went over to Ron and took him by the upper arms, guiding his unresisting friend back to the table. "Why don't you sit down before you fall down, all right? I think I can still manage tea for three."

Ron grunted in agreement, folded his arms on the table, and dropped his head on them.

Shifting the squirming baby under her blanket to the other side, Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Harry."

By the time Harry had made the tea and, after a glance at the tired couple, put together a few sandwiches from what he found in the fridge and the cupboards, Hermione had finished feeding and burping Rose. Harry went over and took the drowsy baby so that Hermione could eat and drink in relative peace and quiet. Rose felt tiny in his arms, so much smaller than Teddy had ever been.

"Owe you for this, mate." Ron bit a large chunk out of his third sandwich.

"Thought we'd given up keeping count years ago," Harry replied. Rose fussed a little at the voices, so he rocked her against his chest until she quieted down again.

"Babies and Death Eaters. Both can bollocks up your life pretty completely, can't they?"

"Ronald Weasley, honestly," Hermione said in a very close imitation of her old, irritated voice. "Comparing your daughter to a Death Eater. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Says you," Ron retorted. "I didn't lose anywhere near as much sleep over Voldemort's shenanigans."

Watching his best friends chunter at each other made Harry feel at home. He leant down and kissed one of the fluffs of fine reddish hair on Rose's head. She smelt of talcum powder, spilt milk, and something that Harry really didn't want to identify. He whispered in her tiny ear, "Your parents are crazy, but they'll take good care of you and so will I."

Better than I'm doing with Teddy right now, he added silently. He usually saw his godson every other weekend, but it was at least three weeks since he'd seen Teddy. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he'd send Teddy that book on magical creatures from the children's section in the shop and make a date to take him to the London Zoo after this mess was all over. It wasn't really soon enough, but Harry wasn't sure he'd be in any shape to handle a hyperactive seven-year-old - nearly eight, he could hear Teddy say.

"All right, Harry?" Ron's hand on his shoulder startled him.

"I'm fine," he said and smiled. "I'm talking with your daughter."

"Not telling tales out of school, are you?"

"Would I do that to you?"

"In a heartbeat, mate. In a heartbeat."

"So, is it okay, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Hating to admit that he hadn't been paying attention, he sighed. "Is what okay?"

Hermione gave Ron one of her patented 'I told you so' looks and explained, "We were hoping that you could keep an eye on Rose for a few minutes while we take showers and get cleaned up."

"I'd be happy to," Harry said, relieved that it wasn't anything more important. "Anything I need to know?"

"Her dummy and other things are on a table in the sitting room. If her nappy needs changing--"

Harry interrupted her. "No offence, Hermione, but if her nappy needs changing I'm going to hand her over to you when you get out."

"That's what I was going to suggest."

After Hermione and Ron disappeared into their bedroom, Harry got up and started walking around with a blanket-wrapped Rose nestled against his chest. His shirt was getting wet with her drool, but he didn't mind so much. One of the best things about being a wizard was the ability to cast a quick cleaning charm.

He was standing in the open kitchen door, swaying and humming to Rose, when Ron came back. "She's sleeping," Harry whispered.

"Teddy went to sleep just as easily with you. Don't know how you do it. It takes me forever and a couple of days." Ron slung an arm over Harry's shoulders and peered down at his daughter. "Gorgeous, isn't she? Not a single red wrinkle left."

"She's beautiful."

"So, what's happening in the world outside these walls?" Ron grabbed a large bag of salt and vinegar crisps from a cupboard, went back to the table, and looked hopefully at Harry. "Mahlingren let you back yet?"

"Haven't asked, to be honest," Harry said. "I can't even say that I've missed it. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm cut out to be an Auror. All that rot about being a team player just gets up my nose."

"Don't say that. Lots of us in the office miss you. I missed you when I was there." Ron frowned. "I'd even say Mahlingren misses you, except that she's been a right besom since you went out. Worse than Snape on a tear. And always in some meeting or another that no-one else knows anything about."

Harry shrugged. "Whatever I decide, you'll know before Mahlingren, I promise."

"Yeah, okay." Ron ate a couple of crisps, staring at the table, and then said, "Charlie said you've gone to work for Snape, of all people. How's that working out? Have you killed each other yet?" Without stopping long enough for Harry to answer, he continued, "If I'd known you were that desperate for work, I would have talked to George about taking you on."

"It's all right, actually. Hasn't even been any killing. Not so far, anyway." Harry wandered over, jiggling Rose to keep her asleep. He delayed answering for a minute, trying to figure out what he could actually tell Ron. "It's weird. You'd think I'd be miserable working for him, but I'm not. He's been pretty decent. Better than Mahlingren. Mostly I get left alone to do my job - none of that micro-managing shit that happens with the Aurors - and it's been really nice to walk away at the end of the day and leave the shop behind me." Harry hid his crossed fingers beneath Rose's blanket. It wasn't quite a lie. He did leave the shop behind him, just not the investigation.

"That's disappointing. Next thing I know, you're going to be telling me that you're starting to like Snape." Ron paused, handful of crisps halfway to his mouth, and stared at Harry. "Merlin. You are, aren't you?"

"I am what?" Harry shushed Rose when she reacted to his sharp tone with a whimper.

"Fancying Snape. Bloody hell, you've got it bad. It's written all over your face." Ron ate the crisps in his hand, and then pushed the bag away. "Have you told him yet? Even worse, does he feel the same way?"

"No, I haven't told him. And I haven't the foggiest idea if Severus feels the same way." No sooner were the words out of Harry's mouth than he remembered how carefully Severus had held him, the gentleness of Severus' hands when he'd taken care of Harry's injuries. And, Merlin, that massage.

"Whatever you say," Ron snorted. "So, are you going to do anything about it?"

"Don't know," Harry admitted.

"I should tell you to run the other way as fast as you can. It's the smart thing to do." Ron made a face. "The man's a complete arse."

"But you're not going to," Harry said softly. He and Ron had come to an understanding four years earlier, when Harry admitted that he was gay. Two days of yelling, another day of Ron disappearing, and then everything had sorted itself out. Ron had given Harry a big hug and promised to help him deal with Ginny and the rest of his family. He'd also vowed that he wouldn't interfere with any of his relationships, as long as he stayed away from poncy prats and right weirdos.

"Nah. I meant what I said." Ron ran a hand through his damp hair. "Have to admit it never crossed my mind that you'd go for Snape, though."

"I haven't gone for him yet."

"I know that look, mate. It's only a matter of time." Ron waggled a finger at him, grinning. "You and Charlie are a right pair of nutters, taking up with the princes of Slytherin."

"Yeah, but we're nutters with good taste." Harry grinned back.

"That's a matter of opinion." Ron's grin faded and he took a deep breath. "Just don't hide it from family, all right? It makes it hard on the rest of us. We just about threw a party when Charlie and Malfoy finally came clean and told Mum and Dad."

Harry nodded, unable to say anything. He still didn't know what to do about Severus but, knowing that Ron would be in his corner no matter what, he felt as if the impossible was almost possible.

"Now, before we completely destroy what's left of my daughter's innocence, what's this I hear about you making an appearance at the Tonks-Thomas School? I thought you'd given up the Harry Potter Roadshow for good."

Harry stared at Ron, good mood evaporated. "Who told you about that?"

"Read it in the _Prophet_."

"What?" Taken by surprise, Harry almost lunged towards Ron, remembering the baby in his arms at the last minute.

"Gotcha." Ron flicked his hand, as if casting a body-bind curse at Harry. "Don't remember who said it first, to be honest, but people were talking about it around the tea trolley at work."

"Lovely." Harry wrinkled his nose and pulled Rose slightly away from his body. Was that smell another thing to worry about?

"Mind if we come with you, then? I know Mum would love to babysit." Ron leaned forward and lowered his voice. "It's just that, as much as we love Rose, we could both do with a break. And this sounds like just the ticket."

Harry almost let loose with a string of curses, but Hermione appeared from the front hall. "Ron, I just can't, all right."

"Why not?" Taking Rose from Harry's arms, Hermione lifted her into the air and sniffed her bottom. Apparently deciding that she didn't need to be changed, Hermione placed her in a rocking cradle. Sparkling, giggling fairies began flying in random patterns over Rose's head.

"It's just not a good idea." And I sound like a blithering idiot, Harry continued silently.

"Well that's got me persuaded. How about you, Hermione?" Ron made a disgusted noise and glared at Harry.

"Harry James Potter." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "We've been friends since we were eleven. You might as well tell us what's really going on with this school, because you know we'll get it out of you."

"Can't."

Voice hardening, she reached out and grabbed his chin. "What have you got yourself into this time? There's nothing so terrible that you can't tell us. Or that we aren't willing to back you up on."

"Or that we haven't already seen, either on the job or during the war," Ron urged. "C'mon, Harry, give over. You know you want to."

The thing of it was that Harry really did want to tell them. And he hated lying to them even more. Probably why he bollocksed it up every time. He temporised, "It's an undercover job. One that's probably going to end up with someone hurt."

"I knew it," Hermione huffed and exchanged a look with Ron that Harry couldn't interpret.

"Blimey, you're good. You had everyone in the department fooled with that leaving act. Even me," Ron crowed. "Now, why don't you tell your best mates what's really going on?"

"Give it a rest, all right." Harry dragged a hand through his hair. "It's need to know only, and you're not on the list."

"Since when did you behave like a good little Auror and pay attention to that crap? Besides, we're on the same team. That means I have a perfect need to know. Can't get your back if I don't know what's going on, can I?"

"Fucking hell, Ron, it's never that simple and you know it," Harry yelled. Frustration and guilt and the desire to tell them, familiar and unwelcome, clawed at his insides, only getting worse when Rose wailed her objections to his raised voice. "Besides, you have a baby to worry about. A baby who needs both parents."

"A baby who needs the world to be as safe as possible," Hermione corrected, as she soothed Rose. "I think you should leave it up to us to judge what's best for Rose, don't you? We're not going to do anything that would endanger her. And if that means me keeping out of whatever's going on, then that's what we'll do. But what we won't do is send you off on your own."

"I won't be on my own. Charlie's going with me."

"Yeah, and he's going to be a load of help if you're going after dragons." Ron snorted. "Face it. You need an Auror, mate. You need _me_. Or you're going to wind up in the deepest shite there is."

Harry nibbled on his lower lip and rubbed the scar on the back of his left hand. He didn't know what to say. He certainly couldn't lie and say that he didn't want Ron there. They'd both see through that in an instant. But the decision wasn't just up to him, was it?

Ron's eyes widened. "Oh hell. This involves Snape, doesn't it? It's what got you working for that greasy git."

Harry managed to hold out against them for a bit longer, but Ron and Hermione pulled out all the stops, proving exactly how well they knew him. Eventually, he gave in and started telling them about the tips Severus had received, and the attack on Draco, and how Harry himself had been beaten up in that alley, and about Death's Furies. Eventually, he agreed that Ron could join them on Wednesday. And God or Merlin or somebody had better help him come up with a good explanation for Severus and Charlie, because that could not possibly go well.

*

Sunday night's meeting took place in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Severus sat at the end of the long wooden table nearest the large fireplace, with Harry on his left and Charlie and Draco on his right. The parchments and books they'd used in their earlier discussions were piled at the other end of the table. The room was still vaguely menacing, but not as dark and gloomy as the last time Severus had been there. Someone - Harry, perhaps - had fixed the sconces on the walls, so they provided better light.

Kreacher puttered around them, muttering to himself almost constantly, cleaning up the remnants of their meal. That bloody fake Horcrux - whose cost had been so excruciatingly high - swung on the elf's narrow chest. Severus tightened his fists whenever the elf appeared, until his fingernails left bruises in his palms, all to stop himself from ripping the benighted thing from that scrawny neck. Harry should have destroyed it, not bestowed it upon his house elf.

They continued making plans in fits and starts, moving onto other subjects when Kreacher came into the room to serve yet another course. The crotchety old elf could cook, Severus had to give him that.

"That's fine, Kreacher. I'll call you if I need you." Harry reached out and touched the elf's spindly arm.

Kreacher made an odd croaking sound, bowed low to Harry, and disappeared. Severus placed an Imperturbable charm on the door. Likely the protection would have little or no effect on the elf, but it certainly couldn't hurt.

"All right, then." Charlie shoved his sleeves back up his arms, exposing a large and shiny patch on his left forearm and a lot of smaller burn scars, and tipped his chair on its back legs. "I think we have the bones of a good plan."

"I'd feel better about it if we had the slightest idea about what Chang and the other Furies plan to do at that school." Draco rested his hand on Charlie's arm. "We have many assumptions, but we have very little actual knowledge."

Charlie's broad, calloused fingers twined with Draco's long, narrow ones. "It's better this way. My worst experiences in the war always came about because the plan was too good and didn't leave room for contingencies."

"If you say so." Draco started to pout, but sucked in his lower lip instead. Despite his expression, when he continued he sounded more worried than petulant. "I've made good progress on the budget reviews and found the usual appalling lack of supporting paperwork filed by the average Auror. That gives me valid reasons for calling a meeting with Mahlingren and the other team leaders on Wednesday." He sighed. "Given the zealousness with which she's been avoiding me, can we enforce my meeting request if she declines?"

"I'll talk to Kingsley," Severus said. "He won't be happy to learn that one of his Aurors is under suspicion, but he'll cooperate. If only to ensure that the Daily Prophet doesn't get a chance to tar his term in office with avoidable scandal before he can fix it."

"Plus, if she doesn't respond and something goes completely arse over teakettle, we'll have the Susurra Tacere potion," Charlie said.

"You'll have time to make it?" Harry looked at Severus. His left thumb rubbed the back of his right hand.

"Of course." Severus felt vaguely insulted by the implication. How could Harry even consider that Severus would commit to something he could not finish?

Concern wrinkled Harry's forehead. "And you'll still be able to get some sleep on Tuesday night? That potion doesn't sound like something you can whip up in a couple of hours after dinner."

Ignoring the whispered exchanged between the other two men and the strangely warm sensation in his chest, Severus replied, "The first stage is cooling in my workroom as we speak. I will have sufficient time on Tuesday night to complete the final stage and decant the potion before Draco arrives on Wednesday morning to pick up your doses." Assaulted by a memory of stealing ashes from Fawkes' stand after a burning day, Severus smirked. "You should consider yourselves lucky that I have a good supply of phoenix ashes laid in, or we would be having a very different discussion at this moment."

Harry attempted a smile - not completely successfully - and returned to staring at and rubbing the back of his right hand.

There was something about that hand, Severus thought. A scar he ought to remember from his time at Hogwarts. But so much of what had happened before the horror of those last two years was blurry and vague, either lost to the exigencies of too much work, too much pressure, and too little sleep or stored safely away in his Pensieve where the memories could do much less damage.

"If we can only communicate telepathically for a few hours after taking the potion, wouldn't it be more prudent if we had multiple doses?" Charlie asked, interrupting Severus' attempts to remember.

"A second dose of Susurra Tacere within a period of less than a year is only recommended if you have some unnecessary brain cells that you're willing to destroy." Severus smirked.

"That's a definite no, then?" Charlie grinned back. "None of us being interested in permanent brain damage."

"Precisely." A smile twitching at the corners of his lips, Severus inclined his head, and then tucked the hair that had fallen forward back behind his ears so he could continue to watch Harry.

"And you're sure that the single dose will not cause problems?" Draco leaned his head against Charlie's shoulder. "My memory's already got more than enough holes in it."

"The Death Eaters used Susurra Tacere during the war. The Order also, but more rarely. If anyone on either side had encountered problems with a single dose, even those who had had memory adjustments, I assure you that I would be aware of them." Severus massaged the bridge of his nose. "We each take a single, carefully measured dose from the same batch of potion at precisely twenty minutes to ten, using Tempus to ensure that we are calibrated. All being well, for approximately five hours, the potion will enable us to communicate telepathically. However--"

Draco interrupted. "What do you mean by 'all being well'? I thought you said the potion was safe."

"The potion is safe. Its effectiveness can be somewhat unpredictable, and the inability to give multiple doses has made testing difficult. Here's what we do know. Some people have no problems communicating and, in fact, are able to do so for long periods of time. Others can only send short messages and the ability does not last as long. And some people cannot communicate at all. To further complicate matters, the same person may have no problems talking to one person and be completely unable to talk to a second. Some Potions Masters believe that this unpredictability is related not to the potion, but to the level of confidence between the two parties."

"So if I trust you, then we're good to go. But if I don't trust you, we're fucked." Harry looked thoughtful.

"I wouldn't have used quite those terms, but you have the gist, yes. Now, if we can get back to what I was saying." Severus glared at each of them in turn, lingering on Charlie and Draco. "Communication requires a focus that makes you temporarily oblivious to your surroundings and, therefore, vulnerable. Only do it under the circumstances upon which we have already agreed. Not for mindless chatter."

Three nods settled Severus' concerns somewhat. He didn't like sending Harry to the school while he remained at the shop to watch Meredith. Oh, why not be honest? He didn't trust anyone else to protect Harry, and that included Harry himself. The man was forever rushing in where even fools hesitated to follow. That was the only reason he had decided to make a potion that he would forever associate with the Dark Lord.

"If that's it, then..." Charlie dropped the front legs of his chair back to the floor and looked around expectantly.

"Umm..." Harry shoved his glasses back into place and dragged a hand through his hair. He mumbled something unintelligible.

"Speak up if you want us to hear you," Severus said, concern sharpening his tone.

"I said," Harry cleared his throat, staring down at the back of his right hand, "that I invited Ron to go with Charlie and me to the school."

The vicious and sudden sweep of his rage took Severus by surprise. His snarl cut through the babble from Charlie and Draco. "Foolish inconsiderate whelp. Do you not even have the sense with which you were born?"

"I have plenty of sense. I even use it regularly," Harry snapped back.

"You wanted to feel special again? One Weasley isn't sufficient? You need to be surrounded by an entourage when you treat the world to a display of your celebrity?" Severus' mouth twisted against the disappointment that curled through him.

"_No!_ Ron's my friend."

"Then what, pray tell, could you possibly consider a good reason for inviting your _friend_," Severus spat the word, "to join you for what may well become a bloodbath?"

"He's an Auror, trained for this kind of thing. And he's had my back time and again in situations like this." Harry's green eyes flared with the brilliant shine of anger. "It seems to me that we have a better chance of making it out alive with him."

"What about his life? The man has a newborn at home. Or had you forgotten that?" Slamming up from the table, sending his chair flying, Severus strode over to Harry. He leant down, one hand on the table, the other braced against the back of Harry's chair, forcing Harry to bend his head back. Fixated on that insolent mouth, the tongue licking those delectable lips, Severus hissed, "Do you think of no-one but yourself?"

"Shut it, both of you," Charlie shouted. He'd stood up, hands bunched into fists. "This is not helping."

"Reassuring, though," Draco smirked, "to know that things haven't changed that much."

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, Severus pulled back and went to stand against the wall where he could see all three of them. He crossed his arms to cover how much he was shaking. Not from anger - oh no, nothing that simple - but from the awful realisation that he was jealous. Of Ronald Weasley. This time _he_ was supposed to help Harry openly, instead of being relegated to the role of hated Potions Master.

He glanced at Harry, but could not discern if he'd given himself away.

Harry's expression was unreadable. He had curled his left hand protectively over his right and drawn them into his chest. His teeth bit deeply, invitingly, into his lower lip.

Severus stifled a groan and turned his attention back to the discussion.

Spreading his hands in a gesture of conciliation, Charlie asked, "Harry, did you tell Ron anything about what's going on?"

"I couldn't let him go into it blindfolded, could I?" He glared at Severus.

Severus scowled back.

"Just give it a rest, all right?" Charlie slumped back down into his chair. "And sit down, Severus, please. We can't have a reasonable conversation with you looming over us like that."

"What's to discuss?" Severus sneered. "Apparently Harry's already made up our minds for us."

"I take exception to that," Draco interjected. "I'm the only one who gets to make up _my_ mind." He moved his chair around at an angle, so that he was facing Harry and Severus. "If you ask me - but since you haven't, I'm going to tell you anyway - if Ron wants to go to the school, knowing what's going on, then we should allow him to do so. An extra wand will not go amiss, considering that we know we're facing a minimum of three of these self-proclaimed Furies and quite possibly more. However, someone needs to go over the details of our plan with him."

Severus harrumphed. He despised it when Draco went all reasonable on him. Especially since Severus would do, and had always done, a better job of keeping Harry safe than Ronald Weasley, Auror or not.

"I could go..." Harry started to say.

Draco interrupted, "No offence, Harry, but that's a spectacularly bad idea. You're supposed to be undercover. Charlie should go."

Charlie agreed and turned to Severus. "Can you have a dose of potion for him?"

"That would be possible," Severus replied, thinking it would be that much less of the batch that he would need to discard.

"Thank you." Charlie got up and held out a hand to Draco. "Now, unless someone else has another nasty surprise that we need to know about, I suggest we call it a night."

When the door closed behind them, Severus stood and prepared to take his leave. Jealous anger still curdled in his belly.

"I'm not going to apologise." Harry's defensiveness made Severus pause. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Are you aiming to revive our argument?"

"Merlin, no." Harry yanked at his hair and flattened the fringe over his forehead. "Don't you ever get tired of assuming the worst?"

"Experience has taught me that assuming the best rarely leads to the right answer."

"Cynic."

Severus bowed to Harry. "Always."

"Why did I ever think you didn't have a sense of humour?"

"Your own sense of humour was sorely lacking?"

Harry snorted. "I'm never going to stop driving you up the wall. You know that, right?"

"And back down the other side, apparently." Severus could feel his lips twitching. The leaden weight of his jealousy dissipated.

"As long as I don't leave you stuck on top," Harry quipped.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I usually like being on top," Severus smirked as Harry's face, neck, and ears reddened. "And on that note, I believe I shall take my leave." He turned and swept out the door towards the Floo, making sure that his robes billowed out behind him.

*

On Tuesday morning, Harry loitered around the corner from Ashwinder's. Monday had been his worst day ever at the shop. Severus hadn't let up from the minute he entered until Harry stomped out the door at the end of the day. Harry had been hard-pressed to keep up with Severus' act, especially when Meredith, the manipulative bint, tried to "reassure" him.

He smoothed his hands down his loose-fitting khakis. These had to be more comfortable than the trousers he'd worn yesterday. Half his trouble yesterday had come from trying to hide how aroused he got whenever Severus went all dramatic and arrogant. At least the man hadn't pinned him down like he had on Sunday night. Harry didn't know what he would have done if that had happened.

Distant bells sounded the half hour. Taking a deep breath, reminding himself of the role he had to play, Harry squared his shoulders and headed for the entrance off Diagon Alley.

"Good morning, Harry," Jeremy greeted him in the small room where he was hanging his cloak on a peg.

"Morning."

"Better watch out for yourself today." Jeremy tilted his head in the direction of Severus' closed office door. "He's in a rotten mood already."

"Lovely," Harry muttered. "Just what I need."

Harry spent the morning in the back room, sorting through the list of books that had been sold and, if they had replacements for the wizarding books in stock, putting them out on the shelves. The only time he went into the other part of the store was to cover for Meredith on her break. Knowing what she was trying to do to him, that half-hour in the café seemed to drag on forever.

For his lunch, he got his cloak and went out into Diagon Alley. With his hood up for protection against the drizzle, Harry ate pie and chips at one of the stalls that had opened recently. He hated eating in the rain, but hopefully it would give Meredith the impression that he was avoiding Severus.

Shortly after closing time, around five o'clock, Severus called him up front, and Harry knew it was time, whether he was ready or not. He finished what he was doing, making sure he left everything in order, so that Jeremy or someone else could figure it out if need be. Then he stepped through to the Muggle side.

Severus waited at the counter, dressed in a black, high-collared tunic over black pants. His hair was unwashed and hung, oily and lank, beside his face. The lines that Harry remembered from Hogwarts seemed to have been re-engraved on his face. The vertical line between Severus' eyebrows was so deep that it seemed to radiate pain rather than the expected anger. Harry was disconcerted to find himself wanting to comfort the other man.

"Late as usual, Potter," Severus snapped.

Harry held his tongue. He was not going to waste words or emotions before Meredith arrived.

Right on cue, Meredith came through the door from the café. She flapped a hand in Harry's direction and then handed her locked money box to Severus, "You wanted to see me, Mr S? Sorry it took so long, but I had one customer who just couldn't decide if she wanted jam tarts or Bakewell tarts."

A quick nod to acknowledge her, then Harry paced around to slouch against a display case. His new position left her between him and the entrance to the wizarding side. Severus remained on the other side of the counter from both of them.

Placing the money box on top of the one from his till, Severus examined each of Harry and Meredith in turn. Harry shivered as the familiar contemptuous gaze swept his body.

"Apparently," Severus said, "we have a serious problem."

"A problem?" Meredith echoed. She lifted a hand to her mouth and started chewing the skin around her thumbnail.

"Someone," Severus looked from Harry to Meredith and back to Harry, "has apparently been taking money from the till in the café. I have gone back through the receipts for the past couple of weeks and discovered several discrepancies."

"I would never, Mr S, you know that, yeah?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and remained silent.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mr Potter?"

"Are you going to listen if I do?"

"Haven't I always?"

"You're joking, right?" Biting the inside of his mouth, Harry managed to turn his impending fit of helpless giggles into a single, sarcastic - albeit slightly wet - snort. Seriously, how did Severus manage to say that with a straight face?

"This situation hardly calls for jokes, Mr Potter."

"Really?" Harry sneered. "I think it's a perfect situation for a joke. One thing out of order and you've got me accused, tried, and convicted before I've had a chance to say my piece."

Meredith stood quietly, eyes darting from Harry to Severus and back again, and continued to bite her nails.

"I am giving you an opportunity to explain, to defend yourself, at this very moment," Severus said. "I advise you to do so."

"Like you did every other time you accused me of stealing?" Forcing himself to look away from Meredith, Harry enunciated every syllable. "I did not take a single penny or knut from your tills. I've never needed money that badly, and I certainly don't need it now."

"Then explain this." Severus reached under the counter and tossed a bag at Harry.

Seeker reflexes engaging, even after all these years, Harry caught the bag in mid-air. It clinked in his hand. He pasted a look of confusion on his face and chanced a look at Meredith. She shrugged back. He couldn't tell if she was buying this act or not.

"I tested my hypothesis over the past two days, Mr Potter. A simple spell on the till left a tracer on every coin and note. This afternoon, my locator spell identified this bag in the pocket of your cloak."

"And automatically I'm guilty? No thoughts about whether I might have bought myself a coffee or something and received the coins in change?"

"You didn't eat in the café today, not even when you were covering my break," Meredith pointed out. Triumph flared so briefly across her face that Harry might have missed it, if he hadn't been paying such close attention.

"Indeed." Palms flat on the counter, Severus leant towards Harry. His dark eyes glittered with suppressed emotion. "Gather your things and get out, Potter. I don't want to see you in this shop ever again. I will owl your last pay packet after I have deducted a sufficient sum to cover your theft."

"Like I'd want to come back after this." Harry straightened up. He got out his wand, bitterly amused to see Meredith flinch. "Accio cloak." Within seconds, his cloak sailed through the archway, a corner slapping the back of Meredith's head and her bare arm on the way past.

"Watch it, you berk," Meredith whinged.

"Try learning to duck." Harry slammed his way out the front door and stormed off to a nearby alley. Around the corner, no longer visible to anyone looking out the store, he collapsed against the damp, slightly sticky wall and - finally - allowed himself to laugh.

Merlin, Severus was good. If he got half as much pleasure out of acting the bastard as Harry did watching him, the man must feel like the cat who got the cream.

Harry laughed until his ribs were aching and his chest heaved from the effort to breathe. He bent over, hands on his knees for support, and worked to catch his breath and calm down. When he was sure that he didn't have to worry about splinching, he apparated back to Grimmauld Place - a house that felt even less like a home after spending a night in Severus' flat.

*

"Coffee is being ready, Mr Snape." Hissy's eyes were huge, her breath stale and smelling like... well, not like anything Severus wanted to identify quite this early in the morning.

Severus yawned, bleary-eyed, and accepted the phial Hissy thrust at him. Nose twitching, he sorted through olfactory notes, cataloguing ingredients, identifying the combination pepper-up and headache potion he brewed for his own personal use. He grunted a thank you and downed the contents of the phial. After a few seconds, heat ran through his veins and steam burst out his ears. Next time, he decided, someone else could save the world. He was getting too old to stay up all night brewing potions, sleep for a couple of hours, and then head out to vanquish evil. He snorted at himself.

Of course, he might have been in a better mood if he hadn't discovered how many of his experimental potions had been ruined because he hadn't had time to work on them over the past few weeks.

The analgesic properties of his potion did not prevent Severus from almost hexing Regulus when a high-pitched wolf whistle greeted his entrance into the sitting room. "Do that again," he forced out through gritted teeth, "and I'll toss your portrait into the Floo without powder."

"Fine, fine. Try to give a bloke a compliment and see what I get."

"Not before coffee, Regulus."

"I liked coffee." Regulus leant forward in his chair. "I really liked coffee."

"I know, Regulus." Severus raised his cup in a mock toast and knocked back its contents in one long gulp. A tap of his wand on the rim of the cup refilled it: black with two sugars and just the right temperature for drinking. This time, he sipped slowly, savouring the smooth taste of Sumatran beans.

"So," Regulus said, waiting until Severus had just taken a sip. "That Harry Potter, you manage to get him into bed yet?"

Barely managing to avoid spluttering his coffee down the front of his white shirt, Severus growled, "You are evil, you know that?"

"Well, yes. Renegade Death Eater, remember?"

Severus harrumphed.

"You could try to have a little sympathy. I have to experience life by proxy these days. Your drought is my drought. It's been years since you sliced Alex Brecciaroli into emotional ribbons and left him bleeding by the wayside. If you go without much longer, we may as well join a monastery."

"I wouldn't count on Harry solving that particular problem, if I were you."

"What did you do _this_ time?"

"Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. On Sunday night, I berated him for his presumptuousness and complete lack of consideration for others. And yesterday afternoon, I falsely accused him of stealing from me for the third or fourth time in his relatively short life - only this time I did it in front of a witness. The only positive outcome is that Meredith was so busy watching me fire him that her disguise slipped. I don't know who she really is, but that girl is up to her eyebrows in this mess." Severus bent forward and rested his head in his hands.

Regulus sighed and wiped a hand over his face. "I thought Harry knew you were going to make that accusation."

"He did. I still felt as if I'd kicked a puppy." Heart beating rapidly against his ribs - from the pepper-up potion, of course - Severus levered himself out of the chair and headed for his workroom. He had a potion to decant and a role to continue playing at the shop.

*

At precisely twenty minutes to ten on Wednesday morning, Harry stood facing Ron and Charlie in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place. He raised his phial of Susurra Tacere. Unlike so many potions he'd made at Hogwarts and as an Auror, this one was smooth and pretty. The silver wisps that floated in the deep blue liquid glittered in the light from the window.

"Now or never, yeah?" Ron said. He clinked his phial of Susurra Tacere against theirs.

"Cheers." Harry grimaced at the unexpectedly bitter taste. The potion felt cold going down, only to become an explosion of heat that flamed through his brain. He reeled for a moment, blinking until the burning eased and the double vision steadied. When everything had settled, he closed his eyes and focussed on the inside of his skull.

Four warm spots that didn't quite belong to him hovered on the edge of his thoughts. Ron was comfortable old clothes and leather. The acridness of smoke and flame tinged the one that belonged to Charlie. The faintest one, with an aura of silk and steel, was Draco. Severus felt warmer than the others and had a familiar and comforting sharp edge that lingered long after Harry sent _Silent whisper_ and Severus responded with _Whisper heard_. No matter what happened, Harry knew that Severus would be there if he needed him.

When Harry stepped out of the Floo at the school, Ron and Charlie came up behind him and flanked him on either side.

A deputation of five people awaited them. At their head was a man who was shorter than Harry, with strands of greying hair combed across the top of his balding head, a creepy-crawler sort of moustache on his upper lip, and no discernible chin. He wore full-length, dark grey robes with red piping around the collar and cuffs. "Welcome to the Tonks-Thomas Junior School, Mr Potter. So good of you to grace our halls today. I'm Headmaster Porsmythe. But please call me Archibald." He grabbed Harry's hand and gave it a limp shake. "You have no idea how much of an honour this is for our children."

Harry introduced Ron and Charlie, and then smiled and nodded as Porsmythe introduced his entourage. After filing their names away in the corner of his mind assigned to suspects, Harry promptly allowed himself to forget all of them except Penelope Clearwater. She looked exactly as he remembered her, except for the distant chill of her blue-grey eyes and the disapproving curl of her lips.

As they walked through the corridors, trailed by the school staff, Porsmythe kept level with Harry and talked non-stop. "The pupils are already in the hall waiting for the assembly to begin. We have forty-three children spread among the four years. The majority go on to Hogwarts, although a few are planning to attend schools in other countries..."

When he'd reached his limit, Harry rolled his eyes at Ron and stopped listening. How to distract Porsmythe after the assembly? Maybe ask for a private tour of the school - without the whole entourage? That should give Ron and Charlie the chance to duck away and check whether there was any substance to the threat against the school.

*

The humming sound of children and teachers talking grew louder as they mounted the stage. The stage held six straight-backed chairs, two comfortable armchairs, and a podium. Porsmythe took one of the armchairs and waved Harry towards the other. Shaking his head, Harry walked to the front. Ron grinned and pulled out his wand. A flick and a wave moved the podium to stage left. Charlie calmed down Porsmythe.

Harry sat down with his feet dangling off the edge of the stage. Ron took up the same position on his left and Charlie on his right.

Unsheathing his wand, Harry cast Sonorus, making sure to include Ron and Charlie in the spell. He laid his hands flat on his thighs to hide their shaking, waited a few seconds, and said, "Hi, I'm Harry Potter and these are my friends, Ron Weasley and Charlie Weasley."

The children chorused, "Hi, Mr Potter."

"I bet most of you have already heard the official story about how I defeated Voldemort, right?"

The responses varied from a very polite "Yes, Mr Potter" to "Yeah" to blushing giggles from the group of girls in the front row sitting next to Pansy Parkinson. Pansy had her arms crossed defensively over her chest and looked as if she'd rather be anywhere but in the hall, until a comment whispered in her ear by one of the girls brought a smile to her face.

"Any idea what's wrong with that story?" Harry looked around but no-one held up a hand or called out. "It's easy. I didn't defeat Voldemort by myself. Lots of people worked together for a lot of years to make that happen."

"But it was your magic, wasn't it?" The voice belonged to a boy of eight or nine with a sneer to rival Draco's.

"I cast the last spell, that's true. But masses of work had to happen and many wizards and witches had to fight and cast their own spells before my turn came." Harry held up his hand for quiet when too many kids tried to talk at once. "Those of us who opposed Voldemort were a combination of all the people who make up our wizarding world. We were Muggle-born, Muggle-raised, half-blood, and pure-blood."

Harry dragged a damp hand through his hair and glanced at Pansy again, thinking fast. Severus said she wasn't one of the attackers, Draco trusted her, and she was teaching here. It had to be enough. "Your teacher Miss Parkinson was there."

A low hubbub of voices followed his announcement. She stared at him, alarm and suspicion evident in the narrowing of her eyes, the flattening of her lips. He smiled at her. "Like most of the other kids at Hogwarts, she didn't have an easy time. Not because she was on one side or the other, but because she was caught in the middle, with schoolmates, friends, and family on both sides. But she did her best, and she came through the battle alive. And now she's here, teaching you, which is one of the things that we fought to make possible."

Pansy mouthed, "Thank you."

Harry smiled at her again and started talking again. Eventually, he forgot about being on display and just had a conversation with the kids. They giggled and sighed, gasped and yelled, and asked question after question after question. He talked about searching for horcruxes and gave them an idea of the real life of Severus Snape, spy extraordinaire, including the isolation, the pain, and the occasional excitement.

Deciding that casual displays of magic would be good for the kids to see, Harry conjured a glass and used Aguamenti to fill it with water from his wand. He drained half the glass and then handed the show off to Ron.

"How many of you have seen a basilisk? Or a spider as big as a car?" Ron got them laughing with his descriptions of faking parseltongue to get basilisk fangs from the Chamber of Secrets and fighting off monster spiders.

The discussion turned serious again when Charlie discussed the defence of Hogwarts. But he lifted the mood by indulging the four insistent boys in the back row who wanted to know about taming dragons. He ended by conjuring life-like images of a Romanian Longhorn, a Ukrainian Ironbelly, and a Hebridean Black, which he sent soaring over the kids' heads.

Discreetly checking his watch to discover that it was almost noon, Harry sent _Duty almost done_ to Severus. He waited until Charlie dissolved his dragons and then asked for one last question. After a rambling, self-congratulatory speech from Headmaster Porsmythe, who took full credit for bringing them to the school, Harry waved goodbye to the kids.

"Blimey, that felt good. Almost like old times, yeah?" Ron grinned and clapped his hand on Harry's shoulder.

They were attacked as they walked off the stage.

*

For a relatively pleasant and sunny day, Wednesday was abysmally slow at Ashwinder's. The high point of Severus' morning occurred when the signal _Silent whisper_ echoed through his head with a faintly cheeky attitude. He had the distinct pleasure of ignoring the two women in line while he focussed briefly and sent back the agreed-upon reply. Unfortunately, they turned out to be the last customers of the morning.

Even the café was slower than usual, as if a notice-me-not had been cast on the premises. Not particularly a bad thing, Severus decided, since he and Colson paid precious little attention to the few regulars who had come in. With nothing else to distract him, he had perched behind the counter, head down, occasionally turning the pages of the book in his hands, and watched her and Jeremy in his orb. Curiously enough, they were both distracted today.

Shortly before twelve o'clock, he stretched carefully then moved his attention from Jeremy, who was reading a book on Quiddich - and wasn't that new and different - back to her. She was standing behind the display case, tongs in one hand, reaching for something. Her focus, however, was on the mirror in her other hand. A two-way mirror, Severus would bet his eye-teeth. Her mouth moved, perhaps responding, and then she glanced over at Severus. Stupid bint didn't even notice that he was watching her instead of reading.

He flipped back to check on Jeremy again. Just in case. But he was still reading.

"Excuse me, Mr S?" Meredith stood in front of him, twisting her hands in the bottom of her pea-green jumper. She looked rather constipated, although he assumed she was trying for a different effect.

"I don't believe it's time for your break yet." Severus controlled his expression. Finally something was about to happen. He'd forgotten how much he despised all the waiting around.

"I'm sorry, Mr S," she muttered. Her mouth twisted on the words. Her gaze remained fixed somewhere around his sternum. "It's just that... I'm really... not feeling so good. My stomach. Like I'm going to sick up."

"You wish to leave for the day?"

"Don't think I have much choice, now do I?" She raised a hand to her mouth, swallowed convulsively. The display was just that bit too much to be believable.

"Fine." He stood up. "Get your things and go. I'll close up the café."

"Thanks, Mr S. I owe you."

And I'm sure you will be unhappy with the manner in which I collect on that, he thought, as he watched her race into the café. She had her jacket and was gone before he had walked over to the connecting door. Right before he received the words that sent a cold spike through his belly: _It's started, need help_. The warm Harry place in his mind still had a tang of ozone and mischief, but the cheeky attitude had been replaced by a much less pleasant-feeling emotion.

He asked _Where are you?_ but received no reply. Ronald and Charlie were equally inaccessible. After a brief exchange with Draco, who promised to keep trying them and to talk to Kingsley, Severus decided he'd done enough waiting. He would start with the school.

Severus moved rapidly to close, lock, and secure the shop. Magic reinforced his suggestion to the two remaining customers in the café. A quick message to Jeremy took care of the wizarding side. He summoned his cloak and then glanced at the tip jar. There would be a tip in there for him. Briefly closing his eyes against the urge to leave immediately and not waste time, he reached in and pulled out the single card:

>   
> _Your presence is required at a memorial for our murdered friends, relatives, and leader. No RSVP necessary.  
> Death's Furies_   
> 

"Those bloody bitches," Severus murmured.

"Everything's locked up tight as the proverbial in back," Jeremy announced. He stood in front of Severus with an anticipatory smile on his face.

This was it, Severus was sure. He placed the message on a shelf so he could keep an eye on Jeremy while he swung his cloak over his shoulders.

"We can't have that, now can we?" Reaching over, Jeremy picked up the card. "You need to keep this on you."

Severus shoved his right hand into his cloak pocket, where he could easily access his wand through the slit. Then he watched and waited for the invitation to be enforced.

The brown hair lightened to reddish-blonde, curled and lengthened; the squinting brown eyes were replaced by large, blue-grey ones; and the short, chubby body became so much taller and curvier that the brown robes pulled tightly across chest and hips. The part of Severus' brain that never completely shut down, no matter the surprise, commented that she had been a student of his, an abysmally bad student.

"I said you'll need this." She clamped a hand around his wrist, long fingernails scraping against his skin, and pushed the card between his unresisting fingers. "It's scheduled to activate right about now."

No reason to fight, he thought, as the portkey tugged at his navel. This would get him where he wanted to be that much faster.

*

Harry regained consciousness when he was pitched headlong onto an unyielding surface. Eyes streaming, eardrums aching, he sucked air past the loosening constriction of his chest. He fucking hated Side-Along apparition.

He levered himself into a sitting position, then into a crouch, so he would be ready to move when he knew the territory. Ron huddled nearby, supporting his left wrist. Charlie was behind Harry. Three cloaked and masked figures stood a few feet away, wands pointed in their direction. Harry didn't need to check. He already knew that his wand was missing.

The entrance hall was relatively large - about twelve metres wide and almost that long. The ceiling was two floors above. The planks of the wooden floor were dusty, stained, and splintered. Harry faced the Furies, who had taken up position at the bottom of the uncarpeted stairs to his right. A dark, narrow hallway went past the staircase and, he assumed, to the back of the house. A single torch hung on the wall to his left, flames quavering in the air, attempting to light the space with assistance from the large windows on either side of the door behind Harry. The large chandelier over their heads was empty and unlit. Despite never having been there, Harry recognized the house easily, even without Nagini slithering around.

_Snape? Draco?_ Ron asked in Harry's head. At the same time, Charlie sent _Draco will take care of school_.

_Mischief managed_, Harry sent to each of them first. Then, realising Charlie wouldn't understand that cryptic message, added _Reached Snape_. The potion would have been a whole lot more useful, he thought, if more than two of them could've communicated at a time. He shifted position on the floor, groaning as Friday night's bruises sent sharp reminders that they were not yet healed.

_Riddle House_, he sent to each of them and found a smile when Charlie and Ron cursed volubly. Some of the words Charlie used were even in English. Harry's faint smile disappeared when his attempt to reach Severus found only emptiness. All things considered, he decided, he would have to wait before trying again. Now, he had to delay and distract and hope that Draco got the Aurors to the school and here in time.

"Hullo, Harry. You don't mind if I keep calling you Harry, do you? We've come to know each other so well over the past fortnight." The familiar voice and wheezy giggle came from the cloaked and masked figure on the second stair. The other two Furies had fanned out to either side of Harry, keeping their wands aimed at him and his friends.

"Meredith! Fancy meeting you here. Can't say I'm surprised, though. Your attempt at a disguise was pretty pathetic."

"Not hardly. And, besides, you're not smart enough to have figured it out all on your lonesome." Meredith preened. "Did you beg prettily when you asked the old man to help you?"

"Aurors don't hire thickos. And they don't threaten kids." Ron was kneeling. His swollen left hand rested on his thighs.

"They hired you, didn't they?" Meredith twirled her wand lazily. "And I remember loads of children who were scared of Aurors during the war. Or don't they count? Being Death Eater spawn an' all."

"The war's over," Charlie said. "Didn't you get the memo?"

"And we're all living in peace and harmony." Meredith snorted.

"We're trying," Harry said. "Maybe it's not enough yet, but it will be some day."

"Such an idealist, our _saviour_," Meredith crooned. Then her voice hardened. "Oh, don't worry your pretty little head. This is about you lot, not those Mudblood brats. I'm sure the Aurors have already taken them some place safe, far away from our lovely explosive gift. Now why don't you just relax for a bit, while we wait for our last guest to accept his invitation?"

"Had enough of talking already?" Harry looked at the other two Furies. The one to his left had a mask with eye holes that were too big. "How're you, Cho? Although after what you did to me the other night, I can't say it's nice to see you again."

Cho remained silent. The visible rigidity of her body under the cloak was the only indication that he had guessed correctly.

"Don't forget our bad Penny." Charlie had moved up, and was now crouched beside Harry. He chided, "Percy would be so disappointed in you."

"Waste of space, your brother, really." Penelope reached up as if to play with her hair, only to drop her hand when it encountered her hood. "No sense of his proper place in the world."

As Penelope talked, Harry let himself drift away a little. He examined the hall again, looking for potential escape routes. The door and windows behind him were warded, but he could not see or feel any magic shimmering around the hallway or the stairs. Their wands were in a small heap on the bottom step, below Meredith's feet. No other weapons, unless he could get to the torch or...

"OW!" Harry's head was yanked upwards with a painful crack of his neck and held in place, so he was forced to look at Meredith.

"Pay attention, Harry. The rest of our party should be dropping by any minute." Meredith flicked her wand, and a spell he didn't quite hear bound his arms to his torso. Similar spells, he assumed from their yelled complaints, trapped Ron and Charlie.

The swirl of portkey arrival flung Severus and his escort into the space between the two groups. His escort, wand out, took up a position at the bottom of the staircase below Meredith without bothering to cover her ill-fitting robes with a cloak or hide her face with a mask.

"Welcome to our little get-together, Headmaster, or can I still call you Mr S?" Glee laced Meredith's voice.

Severus turned on his heel until only one of the Furies was at his back, and dipped his head in greeting. "Miss Colson, I presume."

Meredith clapped her hands, laughing asthmatically and bouncing on her toes. "Oh, you didn't work it out, did you? That's brilliant, that is."

"That you were not Meredith Colson was obvious to any dunderhead with half a brain cell," Severus sneered. "However, if you refer to my inability to deduce your true identity, then you are unfortunately correct."

"Don't," Harry protested when a slash of Meredith's wand cut open Severus' cheek.

Severus remained rigidly upright, ignoring the blood that dripped down his face to stain his shirt collar. Only the flexing of his hands betrayed how much the blow had hurt.

Harry dared another brief loss of focus to send _Are you all right?_ to Severus. His only reply was a throwaway gesture of Severus' hand, which could have meant don't worry, stay back, or pay attention and try not to be an idiot.

Unable to move, and assuming that Ron and Charlie were equally incapacitated, Harry could only watch the scene play out and pray that Severus still had his wand.

*

Severus contemplated the woman on the stairs. Unlike the erstwhile Jeremy, she clearly had not used Polyjuice potion to impersonate Meredith Colson. Perhaps because the original was a Squib, and more than likely dead and buried before the charade started. He examined what he could see and what he remembered of Colson's physique. Ignore the obvious, he told himself, and concentrate on memorable traits: lumpy body, sloping shoulders, piggy little eyes, and that damnably annoying laugh. The shock, when he came to a conclusion, forced him to speak aloud. "You're a Carrow."

"See, I knew you could do it, Mr S," she giggled and bobbed a little curtsy. "Megaera Carrow at your service. Although," her eyes narrowed, "I've been thinking about taking the name Tisiphone for the duration. It seems much more appropriate under the circumstances. What do you think?"

"Avenging murder? You flatter yourself." Severus crossed his arms, concealing his wand between his forearms. "Grudging is far more apt, Megaera."

"You presume too much." Another whipping slash of her wand laid open a parallel gash in Severus' cheek. He just managed to keep control, not to react to the pain or the blood dripping down his neck any more than he had to her first cut.

"Upstairs with them, now," Megaera snarled and backed up a step. The other three women moved forward, wands raised.

Severus yelled, "Accio wands." When the three wands on the stairs flew to him, he redirected them to Harry with a "Finite Incantatem" to release his bonds.

He ducked sideways to avoid the red light of Megaera's Stupefy and almost bumped into Harry.

"Ron and Charlie have Penelope and Cho," Harry said. "You want Megaera or the other one?"

"Megaera," Severus said, and threw a stinging hex at her. She avoided it, jumping down from the stairs. He moved closer. He raised his shield to avoid her retaliatory strike. He dropped his shield to throw his own curses and jinxes.

Multi-coloured jets of light flew in every direction. A brilliant splash of yellow light against his shield almost blinded him. His instinctive squint reopened the wounds on his face. Pain throbbed through his cheek and jaw, providing almost as much distraction as Harry.

He twisted sideways and caught sight of Harry. The Auror was a better fighter than the boy. Harry had Cho backed against the wall. Thin ropes flew from his wand and disintegrated under the flash of someone else's spell. A hex thrown almost simultaneously by a grinning Cho grazed Harry's arm. Severus lurched sideways. Then there was that obnoxious giggle again. He avoided a green jet of magic and raised his shield.

Three counter-curses later, he hit Megaera with a flame hex. As she tossed off her burning cloak, he got her with a Leg-Locker curse. A badly aimed Expelliarmus that came from his left almost cost him his wand.

He spun around, glared. Ronald and Charlie were fighting together. Ron's left hand hung useless, but his face was triumphant. Charlie's trousers had a burnt patch. Penelope was down with not-Jeremy standing over her.

"All right, Severus?" Harry kept his wand trained on Cho, who was huddled against the front door.

Severus half-turned towards Harry to find out if he was unharmed. A flare in the periphery of his vision had Severus throwing up his shield, protecting them both from Confringo. To his unutterable dismay, the blasting hex bounced straight up.

He could care less about the hole in the ceiling. But the thrice bedamned iron chandelier that dropped onto them deserved Fiendfyre.

Regaining consciousness brought even more pain. The cuts in his face bled freely and throbbed at the slightest twitch. Every muscle in his body apparently felt compelled to complain of mistreatment. His feet were stuck to the floor, his arms were bound behind his back, and his back and shoulders were pinned against the long wall that faced the staircase. He flexed his arms to test the bonds, but that proved only that he was well secured. A turn of his head in either direction revealed Harry to his left and Ron and Charlie to his right. All of them were in a similar predicament.

His wand was piled with three others on the floor between him and Harry with one of Megaera's feet resting on top. She had worked herself into a froth. Her face was red. Her eyes were wide open and darted back and forth. Apparently, he'd had the good fortune to miss a good deal of her mono-maniacal rant.

"...your fault they died. Your fault we suffered. Those two," she twisted her lips in distaste and gestured at Ron and Charlie, "however steeped in guilt for their own misdeeds, have no part in this play."

"You're joking, yeah?" Ron yelled. "We were right there when it happened. Dead centre."

Severus would have slapped the foolish whelp upside the head if he could have reached and if he'd thought it would have done the least bit of good.

Megaera swayed where she stood, speaking with the rhythm of ritual. "You did not betray or kill our Lord. You are not culpable in the murder of my siblings. You were not responsible for our sister's scars."

The woman who was not Jeremy stepped into a beam of dusty light that shone through one of the windows. Hatred warped her face into surpassing ugliness. Pushing the fringe off her forehead, she muttered a spell that superimposed an odd formation of purple pimples on her nose and forehead that spelt SNEAK. "It took years to get rid of that. Nothing could hide it. I couldn't get a job, couldn't even get a bloody date. You and that bitch ruined my life over something I was forced to do." She waved her wand again and the pimples disappeared.

Severus vaguely remembered hearing something about a Ravenclaw twit who couldn't keep her mouth shut. Her name escaped him until Harry said, "Marietta Edgecombe. Our Mari. I should have known."

Megaera ignored Harry and continued, indicating Cho Chang, who was barely visible in the shadows by the front door, "You did not lead our sister's lover unto death or abandon her bereft and alone. You did not slaughter our sister's family and term it collateral damage." Penelope Clearwater tossed her cloak aside and sneered at them from her position beside Megaera.

"For that and only for that, and without rendering judgement on your multitude of sins, we release you." Megaera waved.

Chang and Edgecombe pointed their wands at Ron and Charlie's temples, performed a complicated wand movement, and intoned, "Aboleo Memoria Hodiernus."

Severus memorised the spell that erased an entire day's memories. Like most dark magic, the Latin was ungrammatical but simple. The power lay in the wand gestures and the intent.

When Ron and Charlie's faces slackened, the women dropped black hoods over their faces and released them from the wall, arms still bound. Seconds later, the two men disappeared.

A fleeting _be back_ slipped through Severus' mind. Twisting his neck, he could see Harry's face blank out as he attempted to communicate. For once the ridiculously honest whelp was smart enough not to let his expression reveal the success or failure of that endeavour. They would find out later whether Charlie had followed the plan and kept Draco apprised of events as they unfolded.

They began with Harry.

Megaera stepped back, with Clearwater taking up position by her side. They watched while Chang and Edgecombe indulged in what apparently passed for revenge in their uninventive little brains.

Each taking an arm, the bitches dragged Harry forward, barely releasing the sticking charm in time and leaving ragged patches of cloth hanging from the wall. His struggle sent Cho sliding across the room. He'd almost succeeded in freeing himself when Edgecombe slammed her boot heel into the back of Harry's shins, sending him to his knees. Sliding her hand into his hair, she yanked his head up, forcing him to look at Chang.

"Don't you dare close your eyes. Look at _me_. Listen to _me_ for once," Chang screamed at him. She looked angry, but unnerved.

"Fuck off, Cho. I never did anything to you," Harry snarled, and then deliberately and slowly fluttered his eyes closed. Severus wanted to hit the idiot for provoking the witch.

Chang slapped Harry's across face and grabbed his chin. From the side, Severus could see her fingers digging into his skin. "I came to you. After you led Cedric to his death. My boyfriend. My lover. Dead less than a year and all you could think about was kissing me, touching me, everything but helping me."

"Losing your memory along with your sense?" Harry sneered. "You kissed me. And it was bloody wet. What was it like? Snogging me while you were crying for Cedric?"

Verifying that their attention was on Harry, Severus murmured, "Accio wands." The wands started to slip, but Megaera pressed down harder with her foot and smirked at him. When the second try failed as well, he pulled and twisted at his bonds. Desperation made him cast the counter-curse for a basic sticking charm without a wand. And then continue with other charms and counter-curses. He had nothing to lose by trying.

Tears dripped down Chang's face. She released Harry with a convulsive gesture. "When I cried for him, bared the agony in my soul, _you_ flirted with _me_, kissed me, touched me, abandoned me, offered me _nothing_. Do you have any idea what it was like? Night after night, nightmare after nightmare, not knowing what had happened. If you didn't murder him, why not tell me how he died?"

Woe, woe, woe. Severus wanted to slap the stupid bint himself.

"I didn't kill him. Voldemort did," Harry insisted.

"Liar." Chang's slap was vicious, cracking a lens in his glasses, leaving a red handprint. "I saw His memories. The Dark Lord showed me why you refused to help me. He reached out and revealed the truth to me. And then you murdered Him, too." A flick of her wand sent Harry slamming back against the wall, locked him in place again, arms stretched up over his head, only his toes touching the floor.

Edgecombe shook her fingers, releasing a shower of black hairs.

Harry spat blood on the floor. "Cedric must be spinning in his grave."

Hand to her mouth, Chang kicked Harry in the groin. His high-pitched moan almost caused Severus to lose skin, as he instinctively tried to step towards him.

Chang said, "I should have taken you to the Dark Lord that day, not allowed the Weasley bitch to persuade you to go with Loony." At the expression on Harry's face, she looked triumphant. "Did you really think I came back to Hogwarts to help you win the battle, Harry?"

This time Harry had the sense to remain silent.

Deciding that a momentary lack of awareness could not cause more problems, Severus sent _Stop provoking her_ to Harry.

_Thought you could use the distraction_, Harry replied.

_All that for me?_ Severus asked.

_Who else?_ Warmth brushed Severus' mind for a moment, then disintegrated and disappeared in a jagged scrape of pain.

"...cio." Megaera giggled and wheezed as Harry screamed and writhed in his bonds. Edgecombe stood to one side, enthralled. Chang and Clearwater looked vaguely sick.

Severus was going to take great pleasure in killing the Carrow bint. Slowly and painfully.

_Are you all right?_ he asked Harry when his struggles ceased.

_Had worse._

Before Severus could reply, he was floating away from the wall, not stopping until he hung before Megaera. She twirled her wand again and ropes bound themselves around his wrists. The ropes secured themselves to the ceiling, wrenching his arms upwards. His feet dangled about two feet above the floor. A snap of her wand and a blue whip of light extended from the tip. An identical snap sounded at his back.

And then he forgot the faint ache of his shoulders, the constant throb of his cheek, in the slicing of Megaera's whip across his chest. He took comfort in the fact that, despite the fire and agony of the blow, he did not scream.

_Stay with me_ whispered from the corner of his mind that belonged to Harry.

_No promises_. Severus grabbed the lifeline of Harry's voice, using it as a distraction, a way to remain conscious.

*

Harry's body jerked as each lash struck Severus. Penny stood at Severus' back, an identical whip extending from her wand, watching, maybe waiting for a signal. Shirt and trousers hung in rags off Severus' thin body. His white skin was covered in welts and slashes and red, red blood.

Mari split her attention between the punishment in the middle of the hall and keeping her wand on Harry. Not making even a pretence of guarding him, Cho was huddled under Mari's arm, face buried in her friend's neck.

He realised that he hadn't received a reply from the other man this time. _Severus, keep talking._

_Comfort for... condemned?_

_Making sure you're alive in there._

_Mostly._

Megaera whipped Severus' arms and thighs and chest and back and sides. The pause between each strike was unpredictable. Sometimes minutes. Sometimes bare seconds. Turn after turn, lash after lash. Cut after welt after cut. And still Severus didn't scream. The git barely grunted.

Harry chewed his lip and the inside of his cheek until his mouth tasted of copper and iron. And yet it was a bare fraction of the blood that streamed down Severus' body to pool on the scraps of cloth below his feet. Only Severus' presence in Harry's mind prevented him from screaming at them to stop.

_Don't just... stand._

Cursing freely, Harry sent _Accio failed._

"Enjoying the show, Harry?" Marietta's breath ruffled the hair over Harry's ear. Her wand jabbed into his throat. "Can't wait for your turn?"

Following Severus' example, Harry kept his mouth shut and just glared back. He didn't want to engage her. He wanted her to leave him alone.

Eventually, getting no response, she sniggered with derision and returned to her guard post, her arm around the still-silent Cho.

_Try... again._

Harry sent an acknowledgement. Then, hating himself, he shut out the sounds of Severus' torture and concentrated on his magic. "Accio wand," he whispered. The third or fourth time, he got it right and his wand slithered across the floor and up his leg. "Liberatocorpus," he murmured, focussing on his bonds. He repeated the spell until something gave way. Leaning back against the wall, he flexed his fingers and wrists until he was sure he could cast properly. A whispered Reparo repaired his glasses.

_Escape._

_Not without you._

_Stupid... Id..._

_Obstinate bastard. Stay with me._

_Now... do..._ and then Severus was gone.

Harry called Severus' name again and again, but the fucking useless potion had already run its course. At least that's what Harry hoped.

Fuelled by fear, he burst away from the wall. Spells flew from his wand, hexes and curses and explosions of power, as furious as the blast that had blown a hole in Severus' bookcase. Among the jets of light, a white stag erupted and flew through the door.

When asked later, he couldn't remember what spells he cast or even if they hit anyone. He couldn't tell when the flogging stopped.

But it did stop. Megaera left Severus hanging and sent a conjured beast at Harry - all teeth and scales and claws - that clawed a fiery trail across his right hip before he could banish it. A hastily flung Impedimenta stopped her briefly.

Scrubbing a forearm across his forehead, Harry wiped away the sweat that burnt his eyes. A muttered spell fixed his smeared glasses in place. Then he started towards Severus again.

Harry was driven back again and again by Cho's repeated attempts at Crucio. Spells, curses, and jinxes thrown by the other Furies sizzled past his head. Marietta collided with him. His Expelliarmus hurled her against the wall.

The unmistakeable crack of apparition shocked through the fight.

"Fucking hell," Charlie said, from where he crouched in front of the door, voice tinged with awe.

"Thought you'd never get here," Harry called back, stumbling to avoid a hex.

"More on their way," Dawlish replied from next to Charlie. They both ducked to avoid a jet of light that shattered a window and sent glass swirling around the room.

"Severus and Megaera are mine. Cover me if you can." Not waiting for their agreement, Harry jumped back into the fray. Irritated by the floating shards of glass, he banished them. Megaera's Confringo seared his left arm. Charlie cast the counter-curse, and the spell died.

Still steps away, and yet standing on wood soaked in Severus' blood, Harry faced Megaera at last. The cracks of incoming apparition - Aurors not Furies, he hoped - distracted him enough that he was barely able to deflect her hex in time. Needing all of his concentration, he raised a shield around the three of them. The rest of the fight faded into the background.

"Is this what you want?" Megaera stood beneath Severus. The twirling movement of her wand kept his body spinning slowly. He hung there. One shoulder was clearly dislocated. His head lolled forward. His lank hair stuck to his skin. Blood oozed sluggishly from wounds everywhere.

Harry reached out with his left hand, knowing Severus was too far away to touch. A spell burst from Harry's lips. Severus stopped spinning.

"He was such a disappointment. From the stories my sister told, I expected beautiful suffering, glorious resistance. Not this," she slapped Severus' arse, her hand coming away striped with red, "boring nothing."

_Mine_. The word reverberated through Harry. Anger, panic, and need threatened to overwhelm him. But he stood there silently, wand in hand, until he was back in control. "Let him go."

She giggled. "Make me."

"And here I thought you didn't like me." He swayed and dropped the shield. The green light of her Avada Kedavra flew past him.

Cho's shrieked "Mari!" was cut off abruptly.

Harry cast Protego on himself. One step. A pause to reinforce the increasingly battered shield around them. Then a second step. Megaera did not retreat. A third step and she was close enough to touch. He dropped his own shield and cast Incarcerous.

Ducking the thick ropes, Megaera slipped in a puddle of blood. She fell to one knee.

Harry ignored the burn when her badly aimed Aduro hit his leg, and yelled, "Locomotor Mortis," and then, "Stupefy!"

Megaera's legs stiffened. She tipped sideways. Her wand rolled out of her hand. The noise of wood on wood echoed in the silence.

Dimly aware that the hall was crowded, that the battle was over, Harry used a slicing hex to cut through the ropes. His levitation spell caught Severus before he hit the floor. He ripped off his jumper and transfigured it into a soft, absorbent blanket that he wrapped gently around Severus' wounded body. Harry could feel Severus' heart beat slowly, reassuringly.

He tried to apparate to St Mungo's but his exhausted magic did not respond. Carefully, cradling the unconscious man, Harry sank down in the middle of the room. He peeled back the blanket, which was already damp in places with Severus' blood. He healed one of the wounds on his chest. Then Harry's magic faltered again. Worn out, desperately wanting to get Severus out of there, Harry called out.

Help was already there.

Luckily for Charlie, when he reached for Harry, Ron was paying attention. His warding spell blocked Harry's instinctive attack.

"Fuck, Charlie, you know better than that," Harry snarled. He arms curled protectively around Severus.

"Sorry, mate. I must have worn out my brains as well as my magic." Charlie knelt down, one hand on the floor to keep his balance. "Help came while you were busy. We can leave any time. Get Severus and you some medical attention."

Blearily, Harry looked around. Glowing balls hovered in the air, casting light over the shattered hall. Kingsley, Dawlish, and three other Aurors were securing the three remaining Furies. Marietta Edgecombe's body was bagged and waiting for transport.

Ron leant down and said, "I've transfigured a stretcher. Let's get him on it, all right?"

"He's still alive," Harry choked out. "I checked this time."

Without making any attempt to take Severus from him, Charlie and Ron helped Harry up. He staggered a little under Severus' weight, but Charlie was there, adding his strength. Ron wrapped his arms around all three of them and apparated to St Mungo's emergency ward.

*

"How is he?" Regulus asked as soon as Harry stumbled out of the Floo at Grimmauld Place early Thursday morning. Since Charlie's return the previous night with the news that they'd caught the Furies and that Severus was in St Mungo's but expected to live, he'd been flitting between Grimmauld Place and Severus' flat.

"Severus?"

"Of course, Severus. Who else would I be asking about? Merlin bloody Ambrosius?" If Regulus could have stepped out of his portrait, he would have cheerfully throttled Harry.

"Sorry. It's been a long night, and I'm knackered." Harry put his hand in front of his mouth to cover a yawn. "Severus is awake and making life hell for his Healers. He's added a few new scars to his collection and needs a regimen of blood-replenishing and other potions, but Lee - Healer Jordan - assures me that he'll be back home by Monday morning at the latest."

"Thank god." After a closer look at Harry and the healing bruises on his face, Regulus asked, "Are you all right?"

Harry glanced at his blood-spattered t-shirt and trousers as if seeing them for the first time. "Huh. Need to work on my Scourgify." When he returned his gaze to Regulus, his sombre expression bore an edge of pain. "I don't think any of it is mine."

"More magic than sense, the pair of you," Regulus muttered.

"I'd take that as an insult, but you're probably right." Harry yawned again. His attempt at a stretch resulted in a groan of pain.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I should be so lucky," Harry sighed. "Robards sent me home to shower and change before going to headquarters. It's my punishment for refusing to talk to anyone until the Healers finished up with Severus last night. Have to give the Head Auror my report in person, apparently."

"Then you'll check on Severus later?"

"As soon as they cut me loose, I'm heading straight back to his room. If I can't send word back with Draco or Charlie, I'll come by myself." Harry stopped before leaving the room. His voice was soft and gentle, but determined. "He's going to be all right, I promise."

Regulus nodded, brushing a hand over his eyes. That stupid, irresponsible bloody berk. He would never forgive Severus if he died without getting his portrait painted.

*

"You don't want to go in there, mate." Ron leaned against the wall next to Robards' office.

Harry knuckled the skin between his eyebrows, trying to ease the ache brought on by the dose of Pepper-up he'd just taken. "He said to come right back as soon as Dearbourne had finished getting me lunch."

"Yeah, well, things changed in the last fifteen minutes. He's got Mahlingren and Shacklebolt with him. Turns out our illustrious leader was playing for the other team. I haven't been able to find out what she was being blackmailed with, mind you. Just that she was buggering up the investigation on this side."

Another non-surprise, Harry thought, and wondered why he felt more worn out than betrayed. "Explains a whole lot."

"That it does." Ron straightened up. "Anyway, I've got another job for you."

"Can't." Harry shook his head. "Robards made sure to tell me that I'm just here to give my report, not in an official capacity."

"Changed his mind, didn't he?" Ron grinned. "Turns out Cho won't talk to anyone else or agree to the Veritaserum until after she speaks to you. He reacted almost as politely to that as he did to the news about Mahlingren."

*

Harry met with Cho in one of the smaller examination rooms. A smear of salve over a curse burn made the right side of her face glisten under the lights. Someone had found her a grey prison uniform. He still didn't know if he was angrier with her or with himself over the whole mess. He'd been fifteen, for fuck's sake. And she'd been his first.

At first the room had been overfull, with the two of them plus Ron and Robards, representing the Aurors, and Anthony Goldstein, who was acting as her solicitor. But now, at Cho's request, it was just the two of them.

Harry sat with his back to the observation wall, giving the witnesses a clear view of Cho's face. The hum of a dicta-quill recording the not-quite-official interview on an everlasting roll of parchment itched at his over-caffeinated last nerve. It was not-quite-official because, after spending almost four hours being interviewed by Robards, Harry was still on suspension. He wouldn't have been in this interview room if Cho hadn't demanded to speak to him.

Protocol said that Harry should force Cho to speak first, so he said, "You wanted to talk to me."

"She's dead, isn't she?" Cho asked, tears brimming in her eyes. "Mari's dead."

"Megaera killed her." Harry chewed on his lower lip briefly. "She was aiming for me. I ducked and her killing curse hit Edgecombe." He paused again and then said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know she was in the direct line of fire."

"No, you're not, but thanks for saying it." Cho bent her head. A curtain of straight black hair veiled her face. She flipped it back over her shoulder when she raised her head again.

For Harry, the eerily familiar gesture cost him what little patience he had left after almost four hours of being interviewed by Robards. "What do you want?"

She straightened her shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. "I'm willing to talk, to tell them everything, with or without Veritaserum, but I want something from you first."

"If you want to make a deal, you need to talk to one of the other Aurors. I'm not authorised to agree to anything."

"Then we have a problem, don't we?" She shrugged. "Because the only thing I want in exchange has to come from you."

"What?"

"I want to see your memories of Cedric's death. I need to know your truth."

Harry dragged a hand through his hair. Cedric's death had once been the last thing he wanted to talk about. These days it was just the first in the list of deaths on his conscience. He couldn't think of any reason not to share the memories with her now, although Robards would be narked if he gave in too easily. "I'll need to vet the agreement with the Auror in charge of this investigation. It would go more easily if you answered one or two questions first."

She sighed. "Umm, what kind of questions?"

"Just to clear up a couple of details in a show of good faith." Harry shoved his glasses back into place, then looked directly at her. "I can understand why the Furies would want to take out their revenge on Severus Snape and me. Makes sense in a twisted kind of way. What I don't understand is why all these years later? What was so special about yesterday?"

When Cho finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "Meg picked the day. Penny used Imperius on Porsmythe to make sure he set the assembly for Amycus and Alecto's death day." She traced a line scored on the table. "They killed themselves in Azkaban a year ago yesterday."

Fuck. Exactly the kind of information Mahlingren was supposed to pass on to him. Harry gritted his teeth - this was not the time to lose control - and tried to give the impression that she'd confirmed something he already knew. "All right, that fits. One more and then I'll go see about your deal. Why attack Draco Malfoy at the Ministry last Wednesday? Why steal his memories?"

"I..." She hesitated, then continued. "Penny and Meg were the ones who did it. I don't know all the details. They said that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd seen Meg at the shop, so they couldn't afford to have him put everything together when he saw her leaving Penny's office that night."

"It was a pretty stupid move for her to go there."

Cho smiled maliciously. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. Mahlingren had the Aurors so busy bumbling around that they didn't notice what was going on under their noses. And don't you try to claim that you were keeping them up to date, because I know better."

"I'm not claiming any such thing." Harry stood up. "I am going to go and see about that deal you want to make."

Getting Robards to agree was the easy part. Making sure Ron was put in charge of his memories was a nightmare, but Harry insisted because he didn't want them to end up lost in the evidence archives. Part of an official settlement or not, they were his memories and were not directly related to the current case.

An hour later, a couple of phials of Pepper-up potion in his pocket, Harry called out, "St Mungo's," and stepped into the DMLE Floo.

*

"Now isn't that more comfortable?" Ward Sister Tindeman smiled brightly at him and used her wand to adjust the cushion of air that protected Severus' wounds from pressing against the mattress.

"It's bloody well not comfortable and will never be comfortable as long as I'm stuck in this torture device." Severus pushed himself up into a sitting position. He hated the way hospital beds forced him to lie down at an angle. How was a man supposed to read without getting a stiff neck?

"Well, I could just..."

"Stop mollycoddling and get out," Severus snapped.

"Well, I never." She pressed her hand to her chest and walked out.

"You should try it some time," Severus called out after her. "Never know what might happen."

"You must be feeling better. You made her cry." Harry grinned as he closed the door to Severus' private room behind him.

"Excellent. Now, I don't suppose I can persuade you to join her?" After a day filled with intrusive healers and the dimmest-witted Aurors he'd ever had the misfortune to meet, Severus was dismayed by how grateful he felt that Harry was back. As long as Harry didn't find out, he reassured himself, his dignity would remain intact.

"Not likely." Harry pulled a chair up next to the bed. "And if you try too hard, you might not get what I brought for you."

"Chocolate?"

"That's part of it." Harry stretched his arms above his head. His jumper moved upward to reveal just the smallest stretch of - damnit - not bare skin.

"You've seen the slop they pass off as food in this place. So you'll understand when I demand that you hand it over now."

"Sure," Harry agreed. Then he smirked. "Did you know that the wards on your flat let me apparate in?"

"Stupid question," Severus said, adamantly not rising to the bait.

"Good thing, though. It allowed me to drop by and get you these." Harry pulled a tiny bag out of his robes and expanded it. "From personal experience, I know how badly you want something to cover your arse about now."

Severus could not stop himself from hugging his pyjamas and dressing gown. "Get out of here so I can get dressed."

"The minute I walk out that door, someone's going to come in and check on you. You really want that?"

"Annoying git."

"With a valid point."

"Fine. Do as you will. Don't pay any attention to my needs." Severus extricated himself from the bed and limped to the toilet. Putting the pyjamas on was worth every excruciatingly painful moment.

When he emerged, a tray hovered next to Harry. After Severus got himself back into bed - with only a minimum of help - Harry put a cushioning spell over Severus' lap and floated the tray onto it. Roast beef sandwiches and an assortment of Honeydukes chocolates. Perhaps he could consider forgiving the brat.

Vaguely comfortable and almost full, Severus was drifting off when he remembered. "They wouldn't tell me about the school."

"There was a bomb, but they disabled the spell network before it went off. According to Ron, by the time he and Charlie dropped back into sight, Pansy Parkinson had already evacuated all of the kids and arranged to notify the Aurors."

Another of his Slytherins had redeemed herself. Severus closed his eyes against the warmth that spread through him.

When he opened them again, the room was dark and his left foot was trapped. He retrieved his wand from under his pillow and murmured, "Lumos."

Harry was still sitting in the chair. His arms were folded on the bed, with his head nestled into them. One hand had reached out and was clutching Severus' foot.

Deciding that he didn't really need to turn over, Severus settled down and went back to sleep.

*

With Harry's able assistance, Severus succeeded in getting himself thrown out of St Mungo's late on Friday afternoon. "Forty-eight hours," he told Healer Jordan, "is more than long enough to heal my basic injuries."

"Prof... Mr Snape, you may no longer need critical care, but you are not out of the woods. You need bed rest, regular doses of potions, and someone to check on your condition every few hours at least through Sunday." Lee Jordan pursed his lips and shook his head. "I'll be happy to release you Sunday morning, _if_ you continue your current rate of improvement."

"Nonsense. I have a perfectly capable house elf, and I've been taking care of myself for longer than you've been alive."

"Under normal conditions, yes. Right now, you need a healer."

Before Severus could repeat his argument for the umpteenth time, Harry interrupted, "Is that all he requires, Lee? Someone to stay with him, to make sure he doesn't get out of bed, eats properly, and takes his potions?"

"Someone who is qualified to provide medical care," Lee Jordan said.

"Look, what if I stay with him? I'm an Auror qualified in emergency field medicine."

"You're hardly a healer," Severus felt compelled to point out, then, realising that he wasn't helping, he continued smoothly, "which isn't a problem because I don't need a healer."

Harry shot him a look that made Severus want to hit him - definitely not hug him - then turned back to Jordan. "But I've got enough training to take care of the basic stuff, and I'm sure we can find a healer or a mediwizard willing to make house calls. All it takes is the right financial incentive, yeah?"

"You really want to make this happen, Harry?"

_I_ really want this; his desires ought to be irrelevant. Severus harrumphed. But discretion being the better part of valour, he kept those thoughts to himself.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Will you help, Lee? As a favour to me... and to Severus?"

"All right," Jordan agreed grudgingly. "But only because it's you and the professor here, Harry." A brief pause and then he continued, "It's my weekend off. I'll come by tonight around eight o'clock to make sure everything's settled, and to figure out a schedule that won't drive us all batty."

"Thanks. I'll owe you one after this."

"Nah, consider it a payment for everything you've done."

Harry opened his mouth, but this time Severus did cut him off before he could ruin this with his usual self-deprecating tripe. "Thank you, Healer Jordan. I appreciate your willingness to compromise."

The expression on the brat's face was worth the sacrifice of expressing his gratitude.

*

Regulus considered the man napping on the transfigured bed in the sitting room. Over the past day and a half, Harry had shown more patience with Severus' inability to accept help and care than Regulus had expected. Severus snapped; Harry yelled back. Severus threw things; Harry ignored them or, on a couple of very special occasions, threw them back with unerring accuracy. Severus refused to ask for help; Harry provided it anyway.

Regulus couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much voyeuristic fun. He had to make sure the two of them stayed together. For his own sake, if not for theirs.

*


	4. Week 4: Nothing left but the tidying up

Sunday morning, Harry tossed his pillow across the room when the alarm spell set it buzzing at 8 o'clock. His fifteen-minute snooze was abruptly cut short when the pillow dropped back onto his face. He made two more attempts to send the offending thing to the other side of the sitting room. Both times the pillow came back and buzzed on his face. The last time, he couldn't get the pillow off until he sat up. The quilt pooled around his waist.

"Good morning."

"Mmph," Harry replied, refusing to commit to anything until he decided whether or not the pillow deserved to be tossed into the fire. Of course, that required finding his glasses and the energy to throw the thing again.

"There's tea on the coffee table."

Harry dumped the pillow on the floor and snatched at his glasses, which were floating at eye level and kept poking him in the ear. Scrubbing at his scalp, he reached for his tea. After gulping down half of it, he looked around.

Wrapped in a dark green dressing gown, Severus sat in the armchair, one pyjama-clad leg crossed over the other. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a croissant in the other. Strands of damp black hair clung to his face and neck. Occasionally a drop of water slowly wound a trail down his face from his hairline to disappear under the collar of his pyjama top.

Harry very badly wanted to taste those drops of water. He distracted himself by tearing his croissant into bite-size pieces.

Severus hummed but did not comment.

The unreality of that made Harry snap, "What? You're feeling better and suddenly you're a morning person?"

"He's always been a morning person," Regulus said. "Bloody annoying, isn't it?"

"That's the understatement of the century." Scratching idly at his chest, Harry picked up a bit of croissant and nibbled around the edges.

"I do have a fully functional shower, in case you're interested," Severus commented. "And I recommend you develop an interest soon. I might well suffer a relapse if you go another day without bathing."

"Freshening charms giving up the ghost?" Harry lifted his arm and sniffed, then made a face. The stink was getting to be a bit much. Maybe he should have made the time to do more than wash his face, but keeping to Lee's schedule yesterday and Friday hadn't exactly left him with loads of free time. Then again, letting Severus get the upper hand usually led to the man lording it over all and sundry. With Harry usually being classed with the sundry.

By the time Harry was finished with his tea and croissant, Severus had bolstered his impression of unconcern by burying himself in the _Daily Prophet_. Harry might have fallen for that trick if the forefinger of Severus' left hand hadn't occasionally twitched and tapped against the paper.

"I took the liberty of opening your bag and laying out clean clothes for you on my bed," Severus remarked, as Harry meandered off.

Harry was strangely pleased by that, so he left the responding to Regulus, who seemed to be handling Severus better than Harry would have. Instead, he dropped his pyjama bottoms on the tiled floor of the bathroom, closed the glass door behind him, and stepped underneath a spray of gloriously hot water.

The shower cubicle was big enough for two friendly people who were willing to use the same soap and shampoo. Harry opened the shampoo bottle and sniffed, then picked up the soap and checked that out. Unscented, both of them.

As he washed his hair and soaped his body, the idea that Severus only ever smelled and tasted like himself took hold in Harry's mind. Who knew how much of a fucking turn-on that would be? Heat coiled in his groin and lower belly. He leaned against the tiled wall, reached down, and ran his palm over the tip of his cock. Head thrown back, his eyes hooded against the water, he spread his legs. One hand played with his nipples. The other squeezed, pulled, stroked his cock. A groan vibrated through his chest and throat at the image of a fall of wet black hair bent over his groin.

*

"Look, Snape," Ron said from the Floo, his red hair contrasting oddly with the flames licking around his face. "I'm sure you think you're protecting Harry, but Robards' got his knickers in a knot over this one." He glanced backward briefly, then lowered his voice. "Did you really suspect Mahlingren of being involved?"

"We suspected everyone." His hands splayed against the grey wool of his trousers, Severus examined his nails. "She was no exception. And, considering that she was being blackmailed by Clearwater, we were not that far off the mark."

"Yeah. She went to Shacklebolt and Robards just before the end." Ron made a face. "At least that didn't save her arse. She's suspended, pending an investigation into her actions."

"And if either Kingsley or that dolt of a Head Auror had had the least bit of consideration for anything but saving their own arses, they would have shared that information with us."

"What information would that be?" Harry walked from the bedroom, feet bare, shirt hanging open, scrubbing at his hair with a towel.

Feeling a bit shaky, Severus sank down onto the hearth, arranging his legs to better cover his lap. Need to get dressed be damned, he should not have entered his bedroom while Harry was showering.

Ron's face flushed redder than his hair, ruddier than the flames. "Umm... hi, Harry. You look... relaxed."

"Hullo, Ron, what's going on?"

"Robards is having a right royal snit," Severus sneered, managing not to continue with 'and your best friend is acting the idiot'.

"And how," Ron agreed. "Cho is giving everything up. Not just the Furies, but another splinter group with links into the Ministry. They're using Veritaserum to confirm her story, but it's going to be a bloody mess getting it all sorted."

Harry sat down cross-legged on the floor near Severus' feet, twisting the damp towel between his hands.

"I know you've already made your report," Ron said.

"In person," Harry interjected.

"True, but you ignored their summonses on Friday and yesterday. You could find yourself out of a job if you don't get in here and fast."

While Harry stared at the fire, a thousand snarky comments passed through Severus' mind. All designed to encourage the whelp to leave. Except that, when he tried to say them, his traitorous mouth refused to cooperate. He finally said, "Don't let me keep you here, Harry."

Something flashed through those green eyes as they observed Severus, something that could have been hurt or contemplation or perhaps interest. Severus twined his fingers together, so tightly his knuckles ached.

"Harry?" Ron said. "C'mon, mate. Do you really want to bollocks up your career?"

"It's Sunday. And I'm on forced leave, which Robards refused to terminate on Thursday. He's nuttier than a fruitcake if he thinks I'm going to come in today."

"You didn't tell me that," Ron complained. "What's his excuse?"

Severus kept his smirk to himself. No reason to gloat about the fact that Harry was sharing more information with him than with his supposed best friend. At least not while Harry was around.

"Seems it doesn't matter that Mahlingren was compromised when she came down on me, because she documented the reasons for her suspension. Robards won't do a bloody thing about it without a full investigation, because he doesn't want to set a _precedent_." Harry's mouth twisted with disgust when he said that last word. "I'm about ready to tell him to keep his job and all its stupid rules and regulations."

Ron looked as if he was going to object, then shook his head. "Don't blame you, mate. Just give me time to get out of the line of fire, all right? I like my job."

"If he pushes you, tell him I'll be in on Monday." Harry smiled - a curious twisting of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. "Now, if you don't mind, Severus and I have some things to talk about."

Ron's eyes widened, then he said, "Just one bit of good news, before I forget. They found your Jeremy, Snape. He and the missus have been locked in their cellar for the last month or so. They're not much worse for the wear."

To hide the relief that cascaded through him like a disillusionment charm, Severus said, "I'm glad to know he came to no actual harm, although I expect he'll want paid sick leave to recover from his ordeal."

"He might even be entitled to it." Ron grinned then said his goodbyes and pulled back from the fire.

"Perhaps a little privacy," Severus suggested. A flick of his wand shut off the Floo connection. Another motion sealed the wards. "Regulus, if you don't mind?"

"Just when it was getting interesting," Regulus smirked. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, and try for at least one thing I can't. All right?"

"Think he'll be able to stay away?" Harry asked as he watched Regulus disappear.

Severus waved his wand in a languid arc, leaving behind an opaque screen of light. "Does it matter if he doesn't?"

"That's nice, that is. Teach me some time?"

"If I must." Severus meant, 'yes, of course'. Harry's smile said that he understood.

The silence that fell was almost comfortable. Severus was impressed. In his experience, most people just didn't know when to shut up.

*

Deep breath, Harry, he told himself. It's time you leapt off that cliff. He leant back, resting his weight on his hands, and stretched out his legs until his toes slid up against Severus' shin. His heart pounded. Swallowing was painful against the lump in his throat. What better time could there be? "So," he dragged out the word, until he had Severus' full attention. "What the hell happened to us this past couple of weeks?"

"I assume you are referring to something other than our most recent scrape with death?"

"Don't be purposefully obtuse," Harry said, doing his best to imitate Severus' dry tones.

"If you insist."

"I do."

"In that case, I believe that we found common ground."

Intent on the lips curling up into an almost-smile and the gleam of humour in the black eyes, Harry jumped when a socked foot snaked between his legs and rested, warm and comfortable, against the inside of his thigh. "C... common ground, that... um... works, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yeah. Although, I might have said that we found a beginning." Harry sat up a little, careful not to dislodge Severus' foot. My turn, he thought, slipping his hand inside the trouser leg until he found bare skin. The contrast between coarse hairs and velvet skin sent a jolt of pleasure through him.

"Not a relationship? A mad pash? True love?"

"Too early for that, don't you think?" Sliding his hand down, Harry removed the sock and drew Severus' foot into his lap. "I'm not saying we won't get there some day, but..." He pressed his fingers against the heel and moved them upwards, massaging the arch.

Severus was calm, serious. "But you think it's too soon for that."

Mouth dry, Severus' reaction making him wonder if he'd miscalculated, Harry couldn't respond. Severus removed his foot from Harry's hand and the strangling lump returned to Harry's throat. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the rejection.

"Harry? Open your eyes," Severus said. The touch of his hand on Harry's cheek and chin was gentle. His kiss was not. Not gentle, not perfect. Their lips pressed hard against each other's, parted beneath the pressure. Sensitive tongues skimmed across sharp teeth. It wasn't even the best kiss that Harry had ever had but, Merlin, he'd never been this turned on by a kiss before.

"I don't--" Harry nibbled on Severus' lower lip "--want to move in tomorrow, but I'd like--" he bit lightly on the edge of Severus' jaw "--to give us a chance and see where this goes, because--" he sucked the side of Severus' neck "--if we do it right, we could end up with something very special."

"A hypothesis that demands in-depth testing." Severus cradled Harry's head between his hands. His kiss was softer, almost gentle, but utterly possessive. "Preferably in my bedroom."

"Fuck, yes."

Neither took the time to fold their clothes. They tossed their trousers, shirts, sock, and pants in a heap on the floor. Severus drew the covers back and they both got in, hands roaming, exploring.

Squirming out from under him, Harry knelt above Severus and simply looked. The man was not beautiful, but Harry wanted him more than he'd ever wanted anyone else.

Severus was thin, lightly muscled. Coarse black hair surrounded his nipples and wound down to a long, hard cock. The marks from Megaera's whipping twisted through a scattering of older, whiter scars. Index finger hovering over a raised, pink scar that curved from Severus' left shoulder almost to his navel, Harry hesitated.

"Problem?" Severus captured Harry's hand, kissed the back and the palm, sucked the fingers into his mouth and laved them with his tongue.

"Are you..."

"If you're about to inquire about my health, don't. I am sufficiently healed," Severus growled. "Or do you see something you don't like?"

"No." Goosebumps prickled Harry's skin. "I like very much."

"As do I."

Harry traced, licked, and kissed every scar. Nipped and suckled his navel. Swirled his tongue oh-so-briefly over Severus' cock, just enough to provide hints of future pleasure. Until Severus moved restlessly, soundlessly, one hand clutching at the covers, the other hand buried in Harry's hair. Until Harry was filled with Severus' taste and smell.

Finally, after Harry had lavished attention everywhere else, he disentangled Severus' left hand from his hair and examined the pale outline that was all that was left of the Dark Mark. It had faded when the Dark Lord's magic had disappeared with his death.

Harry stroked his hand down Severus' forearm and then smiled. "My scar looks about the same."

"I've noticed." Severus returned the smile. Then, he rolled Harry onto his back. Half lying on top of him, Severus lavished attention on Harry's nipples, rolling the pebbled nubs between his fingers, tweaking them, suckling them. Shivers raced up and down Harry's spine.

"Please," Harry begged. He curved closer, dug his hands into Severus' hair, and held on. His hips undulated. His cock sent jolts through his body every time it rubbed against Severus' skin. He sizzled with the need, the tension building in his body.

"Please what?" Severus disentangled Harry's hands and pulled away. His tongue licked his lips as he looked down at Harry, eyes warm with fingers trailing up and down and around Harry's groin.

Harry tossed his glasses onto the other pillow, then ran his hands down the inside of his thighs and spread his legs, lifting them a little. "I need you."

Mouth curving, eyes gentle and warm, Severus leaned up to kiss Harry, pressing their bodies together. And Harry was lost in the indescribable rightness of lips and tongue and teeth, the comforting weight of bony chest and sharp-edged pelvis and velvety hard cock.

Then Severus hand slipped between them, to grip both of their cocks. Hips convulsing, Harry's legs fell open even wider. He keened with loss when Severus lifted away. Then he whimpered as Severus ran his finger down Harry's shaft, caressing the soft skin behind his balls, toying with the cleft of his arse.

"Severus," Harry gasped. His back arched. His hips bucked upwards. The sensitive skin of his lower belly twitched when pre-come leaked onto it. "So fucking, fucking good."

"Now?" A lubricant jar floated from the bedside table into Severus' palm. His slick finger pressed into Harry's puckered hole, past the tight ring of muscle, moving in and out.

"Yes, you bloody tease." Harry pulled his legs further apart, pushing upward, twisting his hips, until Severus' finger hit his prostate. Fire, heat, warmth, need burned through Harry with every touch to that bundle of nerves. "More."

Harry demanded, coaxed, begged, until he was stretched and Severus rested Harry's legs on his shoulders and then finally - oh god, finally - Severus' cock entered him, filled him, stretching him just that little more, burning with pain and pleasure. Needing to touch, to share the feeling, Harry grasped at Severus' arms. Harry matched Severus stroke for stroke. Every brush against his prostate sent lightning through his body. The scrape of pubic hair against his balls teased and tormented.

Weight on one hand, Severus fisted Harry's cock, rubbing his thumb over the head. And Harry was lost, babbling, coming and coming. Dissolved into the thundering of blood through his veins. Aware of nothing but the feeling of Severus in his arms, in his body, in his soul.

Severus thrust in and pulled out, once, twice. And Harry could feel the pulsing of his cock deep inside, heard Severus' aching sigh, his wordless sob.

Severus slipped out of Harry and lay on his back next to him, chest still heaving. Needing the closeness, Harry rolled over, nestled against Severus' chest, and tugged at Severus' arms, humming with pleasure when they came up to hold him close.

Waking up an hour or so later to Severus' hand combing through his hair, Harry stretched lazily and smiled. He felt claimed. "This hypothesis of yours requires a lot more investigation. Dinner tonight? More of the same tomorrow?"

"We shall eat here tonight. Tomorrow, however, you must go to work, and I need to find out what Molly and Granger have been doing with my shop." When Harry protested, Severus said, "Tomorrow night, we can meet for dinner at your house, if you would like."

"I would like a lot," Harry smoothed his palm down Severus' chest. The contrast between coarse hair and velvet skin felt so good, so right. "Maybe you can help me figure out how to get rid of that hellhole. Find some place comfortable for me to live while we see where this beginning leads."

"That would be more than acceptable."

They kissed, long and hard. Harry could taste the promises of things to come.

~fin~


End file.
